I Love(d) You (Once)
by cleury
Summary: When Draco Malfoy blasts himself off his family tree during the Death Eater trials, he is given a second chance at life. Five years and one college degree later, Draco is Hermione's workmate and another second chance is needed when she drags him off to do something incredibly stupid. Dramione. EWE.
1. Prologue: Five Years Ago

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Prologue: Five Years Ago

* * *

They hated him for his vanity-

But when he chose not to be,

They loved that he died.

—Eulogy for Lucius Malfoy in The Daily Prophet, 1998.

* * *

Case 87 Year 1998 10 August

Narcissa Malfoy is hereby declared guilty and convicted under the offence s 12A of Prohibition of Unforgivable Curses Act 1867. The jury under unanimous decision have been convinced beyond reasonable doubt that Narcissa Malfoy had not been under duress when she casted the Imperius curse on her son, Draco Malfoy. She had done this on fourteen separate occasions; each time to manipulate her son to undertake his Death Eater activities.

With Capital Punishment Act 1473 repealed, she has been sentenced to life imprisonment in Nurmengard with a minimum of thirteen years.

* * *

**(12 June 1999; The shittiest birthday)**

Today was Draco Malfoy's birthday. And true to tradition as it had been for the last eighteen years, the day was all about him.

Only this year it was for quite a different reason.

Instead of people coming together to celebrate his existence, an amphitheatre of purple-robed judges were deciding his fate. The head judge held up his parchment and began reading…

"Next case, Case 104 Year 1999 12 June."

There was still an angry murmur of discontent within the public. Maurice Pucey tapped Draco on the shoulder and nodded at him. He took a shaky breath and refused to look at his mother as she brushed past him, escorted by two Aurors.

The door slammed behind him and everything was silent aside from his tight leather loafers squeaking against the cold marble floor.

"The Crown has laid three counts against Draco Malfoy," read the Judge. "As established in the last hearing, he is accused of being a Death Eater, casting Unforgivables and the attempted assassination on Albus Dumbledore…"

Draco lowered his head and gritted his teeth; his heart pounded in his chest. _I'll be fine, _he thought. _Remember what Maurice Pucey's lawyers said to you. _

"All which have been proven to be under the influence of the Imperius curse—"

Blood roared into Draco's ears and he shut his eyes.

"The jury has decided a substantial proportion of the Crown's charges have failed under the confirmed facts in Case 87 Year 1998 10 August, and has allowed a successful defence of sane automatism. Medical experts have found the defendant had indeed been under the influence of the Imperius curse and his memories have been subsequently tampered with. The Crown has been unable to raise a satisfactory argument to prove their case beyond all reasonable doubt…" said the judge, and he cleared his throat.

Draco felt as though he was about to die.

"There has been a long standing rule a person cannot be criminally made responsible for their actions if the vital link between his mind and body has been severed. An act cannot become an offence on the defendant's part if there is an intervening cause beyond his influence and control. It seems a proper case to grant the defendant full acquittal.

"Draco Malfoy is hereby declared innocent and cleared of all charges."

"Yes!" Maurice did not hide his joy and punched his fist into the air. His lawyers cheered with fervour though they seemed to be part of the small proportion that was happy with this outcome.

"…Something is fishy…"

"…Definitely lying…"

Draco walked back to them with wobbly legs, completely drained by the ordeal.

Free.

Since the start of the Death Eater Trials last year, the Ministry placed him under house arrest and everyone treated him as the scum of the earth. Even after moving to three separate locations, death threats kept coming in.

The Warding community was not ready to accept Draco Malfoy as the victim of the Death Eater crimes. They cried for his blood and for a moment he thought he'd have to spend the next twenty years in prison.

Until he found out how his mother betrayed him.

"Well done, son. You did well." Maurice patted him on the back and began to lead him out of the court room.

"Next case!" the clerk yelled and another person stepped to have justice dealt to him in full.

Draco nodded and continued walking with Maurice clearing the path in front for him.

"What are your plans after denouncing the Malfoy name?" A horde of reporters flew into his face and asked.

"Would you still be able to claim your trust fund?" another one asked.

And then everything was all too much for Draco; he stopped in his tracks, looked up to the sky and burst into tears. He had held it in for the whole year—he hadn't cried once since the trials started. His parents had told him never to let his feelings show… but in the end, when did they ever teach him to do what was right? Cameras flashed around him and he didn't bother to hide his crying face.

He had enough of Britain.

* * *

Herald, J. (1999, July). This Reeks of Bullshit. In _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Student Magazine (Swish!)_.

The world is filled with surprises and the majority of them are bad. They range from misconstrued intentions to full-blown lies. The whole Malfoy case manages to cover BOTH ends of the continuum. Their story is utter bullshit.

Has nobody noticed Narcissa Malfoy pulled the oldest trick in the book? "My son was under the Imperius curse", blah blahblahblah! That's exactly how Lucius Malfoy got away with prison the first time. And how can Draco not remember having the Imperius cast on him? A memory charm's eaten most his memories from the last two years away? What an ultimate cop-out!

And I save the biggest hoo-ha for the last: at the scene of Lucius' "suicide", Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were with him alone. Fucking guard, how could you leave a family of deranged shits in the same room!

Do we believe the self-preserving git would kill himself?

We think not.

Who hates his daddy so much, he's won the honour of being the first pureblood to blast himself off his own family tree?

Draco Malfoy, the Karma Houdini of Our Generation.

* * *

**(15 January 2000; Departure)**

A couple stood beside a row of plastic chairs one floor above the check-in area at the International Terminal, locked in a tight hug more in familiarity than affection, ignoring the steady stream of people through the departure gates. One was a woman with an immaculate chocolate-brown bob, donned in a knee-length dress. She was Pansy Parkinson. She wore the colour of mourning because today was a farewell. She leaned forward and moulded herself into a man's fierce embrace. He was Draco Malfoy. He wore a crisp black suit for this special day. At this precise moment, Pansy was drowning him.

There were a few things Draco hated but tolerated for Pansy: an unmade bed, masquerade balls and sloppy kisses; such as the one they shared now. He had loved Pansy, but not enough to sacrifice his life. Her lips slid against his and he moved almost lazily, responding only when she urged him with persistent cues.

"Pansy—" he said as they broke apart for a moment to take a breath. Her only response was to pull him closer. "Pansy!" he said again, this time pulling his head back.

She looked up at him with her brown eyes and scowled. "What?"

"Drool."

Wordlessly—because this had happened _so_ many times before—she pulled out a pack of tissues from her designer bag and handed it Draco.

"Sorry," she said, giggling. "Boy I'll miss this."

"Watching me wipe your spit from my face? You freak."

"I meant snogging, you oaf!"

"You mean you'll take a vow of chastity?"

"As if!"

Draco smirked evilly. "I hope my next girlfriend—"

"No one in their right mind would want to date you," Pansy said, leaning forward to give Draco a kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay, you've given me plenty of experience to handle crazy women. And what's not to love about me? I'm charming and nasty."

"There's one thing I regret," said Pansy, squeezing him tight. "I didn't make use of you enough."

"What," he asked, half-joking, "You mean, all those handbags weren't enough?"

Pansy sniffed into his shirt. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh yeah. I always knew you were using me for my body."

Pansy let out a loud sob and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "I just can't believe you're leaving today!"

"Of all days, right? It's not like you knew for the whole of last year."

"Why did you have to take your NEWTS _this_ winter? I thought I'd have at least one last year with you in Hogwarts."

"That'd be a complete waste of time." The memories of what happened during the Battle would plague him the entire time. Plus, he wouldn't have his little entourage. And what was life without a band of followers behind you?

"But that would've meant we could spend more time together."

"You were the one who wanted to break up."

"You did too."

"Long distance would never work," he added and he frowned when he heard the familiar sound of cameras clicking, seeing flashes off going off like a firework display. "Ugh."

"…I would have received too much attention. This isn't just about me, the other students would be affected too," Hermione said to a reporter as he shoved a recorder to her face.

"With her being in America for the next three years, how do you think your relationship will fare?"

"That's between us—" Hermione protested, having enough of her love life published and broadcast everywhere.

"What, Hermione? People are probably _dying _to know! We are kind of famous y'know." Ron leaned forward in excitement and grabbed the recorder out of the reporter's hand. "If our love held up while we were fighting with Voldemort, I can't imagine distance being a problem."

Reporters cooed at his declaration of love and at saying You-Know-Who's name aloud (people still refrained from saying it aloud out of sheer habit) and they cheered when Ron grabbed Hermione and gave her a loud, dramatic kiss. Hermione blushed—she could never initiate public affection—but returned the favour.

_At least _he_ was enjoying the attention_, Draco thought.

"Please," Hermione said after the display. "Could you please leave us, I'd like to spend our last moments in private."

Ron wrapped his arms around her and nodded. "Please. Just remember there will be plenty more of this from years to come."

The reporters laughed good-naturedly and in nothing short of a miracle, began to disperse. Draco's mouth hung open. Being a war-hero really was something; even the media who had finally lost interest in him after months and months of hounding listened to what the Golden Trio said.

Draco and Pansy mirrored each other's expression of pure disgust and turned away from the mass of reporters and the Golden Couple.

"Bet they won't last a week," Pansy said in a particularly loud and obnoxious tone so there was no chance for the couple to miss what she said.

Ron made a disgusted noise and stomped towards them. "Ron, don't. She's not worth our time."

Pins struggled to stay in Hermione's hair and from the slickness of her hair. Draco grinned; he could tell she spent at least an hour with a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion having expected cameras.

"Draco, let's go somewhere else," whined Pansy, breaking him out of his observations. "I don't want to get too close. They have fleas!" Draco's gaze lingered on Hermione's face just to catch her reaction—a scowl—before turning away. "Like EW!"

"Malfoy." Hermione stopped in front of him, her neck rigid with tension. Ron turned bright red as though he was a volcano, about to erupt.

"Granger."

"Pug-face!"

"Freckle-face!"

"You're here," Hermione said to Draco. _Of course, he's here!_ she thought. _He's standing in front of me._

"Yes I am." Draco wrinkled his brow and his mind went on an overdrive to decipher what all these signs meant. She was at the departure gates at exactly the same time as him.

Salem Institute's orientation day was starting in two days' time.

Hermione Granger was a smart girl and she declined the offer to be the Head of the Magical Law department. She said she needed to educate herself further before taking a position with such a large responsibility.

She bit her lips and wondered what to say. She hadn't seen him since the Battle of Hogwarts but read plenty about him in the newspaper. "Salem?" she asked, having arrived to the same conclusion as him.

"Yes."

"What?" Ron asked. He appeared by Hermione's side, having grown tired of arguing with Pansy who for all her frivolity was an endless come-back machine. "_You,_ you're going to Salem? How did you get in? Buy your way in there with your dad's dirty money?"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, heat rising to her face.

Draco looked at him as though he was an offending piece of rubbish. "I am not going to respond to that."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You idiot!" Pansy screamed at Ron before turning to Hermione. "Control him! He's embarrassing!"

"I'm not some animal!"

Hermione stepped in front of Ron, shooting him a furious look. "Can you not cause a scene and just wish me a goodbye?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Hermione tugged Ron's arm and lead him away.

The fire died in Ron's eyes and he grabbed her hands in his. "Sorry, 'ermione. Today was meant to be all about you. I'm sorry." He gave her a zillion-watt smile, and she flashed a smile back at him, just as bright, and showered him with kisses.

"Can you believe him?" Pansy fumed as Draco pulled her to the side. "They should put a collar on the likes of him! That animal," she huffed. "That Mudblood should have kept him on his leash—"

"Pansy."

"If this was Hogwarts I would have ordered Goyle to push him off the Astronomy Tower. Show them who's on top." She looked up at Draco and sighed when she saw the look on his face. "Whoops, sorry! I forgot, you've graduated from calling people that."

"That was Pucey's condition on being my patron." That didn't seem like a bad deal for Draco. "In the end, all my relatives were so consumed with hate for Muggles and non-purebloods, they didn't even care or love what they were supposed to be protecting. They gave up their humanity to protect their beliefs. I don't want to end up like them."

"Yes, yes. All propriety and no bullying makes Draco one dull boy. No wonder I'm dumping you." She went on her tip-toes and gave a kiss on his cheek. "That's what I'll tell them anyway."

He couldn't help but smile. "As if they would believe you."

"Oh, I'll make them."

"You are the best at spinning stories."

"I hate you."

"I know."

They hung in each other's embrace for a while longer before Pansy pulled back. "You should go," she said, looking down so Draco wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. He had told her on more than once occasion that he rather gouge his eyes out than watch her cry.

She knew it didn't mean that he would risk his vision to prevent her from crying, but sometimes she liked to interpret it that way.

Made things kind of romantic, in a morbid sense.

"So… I guess that's it," he said, pulling his arms off her and shoving them into his pockets.

"Yup."

"You know, I might actually miss you. See you," he said. He squeezed her once on the shoulder and headed towards the departure gates without a second look back.

He didn't even wait for Pansy to say good-bye. That jerk.

* * *

The Muggle Revolution: Effective Solutions to Electromagnetic Interference

Author(s): K. Hwang, A. Pucey, P. White

Source: _Transactions of the Institute of British Magic,_ New Serial, Vol 18:3 (2000), pp 309-325.

ABSTRACT: In this paper, we identify the underlying problem with Muggle technology and magic as electromagnetic interference (EMI). We report the successful compatibility with magic and Muggle devices when they are built with the addition of a Faraday Cage (mesh constructed of ferrite metals) and supplementary charms. We find in our three models, integration with Muggle technology – electricity, battery, and associated devices are functional and operational with 95% supply reliability...

* * *

Draco and Hermione lined up behind other passengers as they waited to get their coats and hand-held luggage examined by the Customs. She rushed after Draco and grabbed his arm as soon after she collected her luggage.

"Granger?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "What Ron said about your father… and your money. I hope you'll accept my apology."

"It's not like you were the one who said it."

"Still… I truly am sorry," she said, turning red while wondering why she was apologising to him.

"For what?" He rose one eyebrow at her.

"F-For what happened to you."

"Thank you?" he said, confused at her words.

Cue the most awful silence between the two.

"So… are you going to see Pansy in the holidays?" she asked when the awkward silence between them reached an unbearable saturation point.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We just broke up."

"Oh." Was all she could say. _They sure were touchy-feely for two people not in a relationship._

"Long distance relationships are a waste of time."

"Well!" said Hermione. "You don't know about that!" She lifted her chin as though she were meeting a challenge. "I'm sure _some _relationships can survive the distance. I mean, if you're meant to be together."

"You think you're meant to be with Weaselbee?" asked Draco, wrinkling his nose.

"Better than pug-face Pansy!" she snapped before regret filled her features. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Draco shrugged. "Guess Pansy and I weren't meant to be."

"There's always second chances. Maybe when you come back."

"Maybe." Draco's head tilted to the side, unconvinced of this.

Hermione gave a cautious smile. "There are. I'll prove to you second chances exist."

"Sorry?"

"When we arrive in Salem. Let's start off on a clean slate. Pretend not to know each other. Who knows, we might end up being friends."

"We invite those in first class step forward…"

He looked up at the attendant who had amplified her voice with her wand. "That's me." Draco hesitated before offering his hand to her. Hermione accepted his hand without delay and gave him a firm handshake. "To second chances," she said. Draco gave Hermione a shy smile and found her expression mirrored his.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," said the attendant, smiling up at him.

As the boat lifted off the water, it rumbled and shook as it made its ascent. Two people sat on one flying ship with fifty seats between them. In first class was Draco Malfoy, trying not to hurl his lunch. He never liked flying boats but they were definitely the safest for long-distance travels. Port-Keys of course were faster, but the risk of letting go of the key when one were travelling between two countries meant grievous injury or finding oneself dead in the middle of nowhere. In the economy-seat, Hermione gripped the side of her chair as she swallowed multiple times to clear her ears, handling the change in altitude better than Draco.

The boat rose above the turbulence and soon the seatbelt signs over their heads flickered off. The two on the boat stared out of their windows, lost in thought. Hermione kept a steady heart believing her relationship would withstand the distance while Draco nursed his sore (but not broken) heart. Something had just transpired beyond their awareness, and they could no longer say they loathed each other's existence.

Draco looked through the window, mulling over the burning question which would continue to plague him for the better half of the decade as he headed towards his destination. A flight attendant walked the length of the ship, making sure everyone was comfortable in their seats. He brushed past Draco, and the blond snapped out of his reverie as the man apologised to him.

"_Sorry." – _Hermione's words echoed in his head. _Second chances._ He smiled a rare smile without malice.

* * *

Author note: First things first, a disclaimer. JKR owns HP, not me. I've been wanting to write something lighter, fast-paced, and a story more involved with society post-War. Hence, this story was born. Needless to say, this is not a sequel or related in anyway to DMHQS. A huge thank you to my alpha-reader, hiddenhibernian; and my beta-reader for this story, MysticDew.

Please review!


	2. Chapter One: Arty Artie's Number Problem

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter One: Arty Artie's Number Problem

* * *

It began like this.

_It was like cannibalism, until the prey fought back. _That was what Hermione Granger said to Draco Malfoy twenty minutes after the incident in the comfort of their office, but right now the two of them could only stare at the scene in horror.

A hideous woman sitting in front of Draco in a ridiculous purple suit, being the same width and height, drew the most unflattering resemblance to a giant grape. She was dying—as were the rest of the human race— but she was accelerating towards death at a phenomenal speed and all she could do was flail her arms in the air as she choked on one tiny grape. Her huge forearms swept across the table and everything, the glass of water, the bowl of grapes and her large bag (and all its contents) spilt onto the carpet floor.

"Director Mar!" Hermione's chair clattered to the floor when she shot out of her chair.

Director Mar flounced on the floor. She crept up onto her all-fours and heaved like a cat trying to cough up a stubborn fur-ball caught in its throat.

"What do we do?" asked Mr. Bughes, his eyes wide with panic.

"Call for an ambulance," suggested Artie, flipping open his phone. The brown-haired man dialed for the emergency services and pressed his phone to his ear. "The medics can Apparate and take her away—"

"Does anyone know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver?" asked Draco, looking around the crowded hotel restaurant. Everyone had stood up and peered at the spectacle.

"HERAGH!" Director Mar coughed and the grape lodged in her throat flew out of her mouth and rolled a couple feet.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right," Hermione said, placing her hand against her heart.

"Uh, sorry, she's all right now. We won't be needing assistance anymore. Thank you!"

"Is the contract safe...?" Mr. Bughes made his way back to his seat and picked up his pen.

"The contract?" Director Mar bent down and picked up the slim black file.

"We're lucky no water spilt onto it," said Draco, giving her a pen to sign immediately, just in case she decided to collapse from the shock or something.

Director Mar picked her chair up and it creaked when she placed her entire weight on it. "Done," she said as she scrawled her complicated signature across the bottom of one page. She handed it to Mr. Bughes.

He accepted the pen and scrawled his name across it too. He stood up, relief in his face and smiled as he shook the lady's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Artie, as our intern would you like to do the honours? Say the words that close the deal?" Hermione placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and he grinned at her.

"On behalf of Prewett and Pucey, we have witnessed and authorized a transaction between the Mar and Bughes Companies."

Nosy people in the restaurant broke out into applause at the sign of a happy ending. After all, the woman hadn't died, the intern was given the credit and the business deal completed without delay. That was what it seemed like, and what Draco and Hermione thought occurred.

They didn't realize until three hours later.

* * *

Muggle Technology and Its Impacts on Our Society: A Contemporary Introduction

By N.E Colt

Stormwell Publishers Ltd, 2005

INTRODUCTION:

Following the findings of Dr. Hwang's teams in 2000, we are within the third wave of the Muggle Revolution. While the growth of Muggle things and science have become commonplace in our everyday lives, the full impacts of the imported technology has not yet been realized. Have we lost our identity as a magical community? What kind of gifts did you receive last Christmas? Do you prefer to use a cell phone or Fire Conference when talking with your mates?

* * *

**(22 December; Arty Artie's Problem with Numbers)**

Five years since they met at the International Terminal, flew across the Atlantic Ocean on a flying boat, and spent three years together in the same cohort, Draco and Hermione became close classmates. Though they lost contact in the year after returning from America, due to new jobs and separate social circles, they became colleagues when Pucey and Prewett – the two largest Hired-help and Civil Consultancy firms decided to join hands. Sharing a large office with someone for six months did certain things.

Hermione had once said the long hours they spent together could only make them closer or drive them to poison each other's lunches.

"Granger…" Draco said as he looked inside a black file he was about to hand to his boss, Maurice Pucey. "What's this?"

Hermione took the file out of his hands, inspected the contents and her expression morphed from faint confusion to express horror, all intentions to eat out for lunch forgotten. _Merlin!_ "Where's Artie?" she managed to squeak out.

_Da dum… da dum… da dum—dadumda—_

A phone vibrated three floors below vibrated and its display lit up; it made a loud buzzing noise as the phone against a wooden surface.

"Hate to break you love birds up, but that's your phone." A woman with curly brown hair and hazel skin picked it off the countertop and threw it at the couple.

Artie who was sitting on the lunchroom couch beside his girlfriend caught the phone. "Thanks, Martha."

"Who's Shark?" she asked. Leave it up to Artie to set the Jaw's theme song especially for the caller. He was the type to pay exhausting detail to trivial things and tended to overlook important matters. "Draco Malfoy? I guess it fits his image."

"Sh!" said the girlfriend, Ellen. Cute and petite, with lush, long black hair, she had eyes that turned into thin lines whenever she smiled. She was an angel… at least that was what Artie told Martha the first time he introduced her, but in Martha's opinion as a professional third-wheel, it remained to be seen.

Martha stuck her tongue at Ellen and she glared back at her. "Hermione? Why's she the shark?" she asked Artie again.

"Something Draco called her yesterday…" Ellen said for him but never managed to finish the answer as Artie shot out of his seat, his face painted in varied shades of gray.

"Uh… I have to go." He rushed for the door, flung it open and rushed out.

Ellen and Martha heard him clamber up the fire escape.

"Well, bye." Martha shook her head and headed back into the staff kitchen to make her coffee. "And this was the first time I got to see him this week. I swear, the two of them overwork him."

"They just finished up the Mar-Bughes deal," Ellen sighed and got out of her chair. "Hope he's not in trouble. You know how he is when he's stressed."

"I swear it's because he's with you," Martha called out over the whistle of the kettle.

"Or maybe it's because of your face!"

"Real classy."

* * *

Artie wasn't in trouble, but he felt like he was about to have vultures eat his entrails. The last three weeks he'd spent tailing Hermione had been what Ellen called three 'ex's. Extraordinary, exhausting and _excruciating_. Draco Malfoy had called her a shark because like one, she had to keep moving or she would die. Everything was sink or swim.

The elevator door slid open—Pucey got rid of the rattling ones after the first wave of Muggle technology hit the wizarding community after the war—and he ran his fingers through his brown hair and straightened his navy suit before he rapped twice on a door with two name plaques hanging on its front.

_Hermione Granger_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Junior Partners_

He opened the door and gulped when he saw his two superiors. Draco sat behind his desk like a man with an offer you couldn't refuse and Hermione stood beside him. Their gazes zeroed onto him as he stepped through the threshold.

Hermione handed him the black file they had taken from the hotel. "Read it."

Artie leafed through the content. The Mar-Bughes deal.

"Read the contract," clarified Draco in a voice which suggested murder would be on his hands in the imminent future.

Artie's bottom lip wobbled. He felt weak in the knees and not because he was oh so besotted by Draco's charming _exterior_, but because he was afraid of Draco's murderous _interior_. Artie scrambled to the back of the file and his eyes grew wide when he saw it—

"How many zeroes are in a million?" asked Hermione in a kind teacher's voice. It was often said Draco Malfoy, his bosses' partner, was an arsehole. But compared to Hermione Granger's temper, Draco was nicest arsehole you'd ever meet.

"Six."

"Correct. Now how many zeroes are there in the contract?"

Hermione Granger was like a shark, aggressive, with a tendency to rip your head off if she felt irritated or peckish (or at least that's what Draco meant yesterday).

"Holy shit…" Artie's windpipe constricted and he heard a roar in his ears. "I…" started Artie. He had a horrible, bad-flip-floppy feeling in his stomach now.

Six. What an interesting number. The third positive even number. People sometimes had six fingers and toes. Six came after five. Haha.

"The answer's four," said Draco. "_Obviously,_ you don't know how to count."

"W-What do I do?" He looked like a possum caught scavenging in your neighbour's rubbish bin.

"Can you explain to me why you _said_ there were _six_ zeros yesterday and today there are _four_," she said, "_After_ the client signed the _contract_?"

The numbers Four and Six danced around Artie's head, taunting him. He always hated numbers. He didn't become a Liberal Art's major in Salem Institute and seek a job at Prewett's consultant firm because he liked numbers.

Hermione looked down at her scrunched hands and blinked away the tears threatening to spill. "We can fix this."

"No you can't," said Draco. "The intern _here,"—_he glared at Artie as he said this—"screwed up royally. We need to tell Pucey and Prewett and see what we can do."

"No," she said again, her voice even more strangled this time. "We can find a way. They won't even have to know. I'll schedule an appointment with Director Mar, I'll try convince her to sign a contract."

"Would you in your right mind, sign a contract which makes you pay 4,950,000 galleons _more_?"

Hermione looked down at her shoes before she rushed past Artie. "Excuse me," she said in an unhinged voice. She covered her hands with her face; she didn't want to cry in front of them.

"And this is why I find the immunity rule ridiculous," spat Draco, looking as though he wanted to set Artie on fire. "Why does the mentor get all the blame when the intern screws up? A P&amp;P internship should have stuck with the usual clause: 'The intern agrees to indemnify any claims against Pucey and Prewett which arise from the wilful misconduct or negligence of his or her part.' But _nooo_, sole responsibility rests on the mentor."

The younger man failed to make an excuse.

"…shouldn't have trusted you…" grumbled Draco, "I should _not_ have listened to Granger when she told me to treat you like an actual employee in the company."

"I…"

"Congratulations, you've just ruined the career of the Brightest Witch of Our Generation."

Hermione made it to the toilets and managed to lock herself into a cubicle before she burst into tears. _Five million galleons!_ Her fingers tried to tease the toilet paper out of the dispenser but she couldn't pull it out… tiny bits of tissue fell onto the floor and she stomped on them with venomous spite. Hot tears dripped onto her black pencil skirt.

The bathroom door slammed open. A pair of shoes squeaked against the tiled floors and Hermione _should've_ realized heels always _clacked_ on hard surfaces—and there was a knock on her cubicle door which she ignored.

She needed to talk to Director Mar immediately. See if she'd change back to the original contract.

The person rapped on the door again.

"It's taken!" she snapped. There were two more stalls and they had been empty when she came in.

"I know."

"This is the girl's toilet you know." _It wasn't like _he _was in any particular trouble, _she thought. _Pucey might yell at him but Artie's my intern so I'm the one getting sacked._

"Yes, I can read," he said wryly.

_If only Artie had the same skill!_ She scrunched up the ends of her skirt with her fists as she thought this. "Just give me a minute. I swear, if you leave me alone for a minute I will come out."

"I'll be waiting in our office."

She sat on the toilet seat and finally managed to yank a section of the toilet roll out of the dispenser. She dried her eyes, blew her nose and collected herself before swinging the door open. As much as she loved making plans, she was horrible at it, and from experience her plans were doomed to fail.

But an idea was hatching in her mind. Their bosses' end-of-year leave began tomorrow and were on a break until the 5th of January. That gave her time. She could ask the Director to re-sign the contract and her boss would be none the wiser. She could retrieve the five million galleons before their bosses found out.

* * *

Martha snorted as she buzzed Artie and Ellen into the company. Ellen had just told her about Artie's mistake so she would be careful around him and cheer him up—as his best friend of course. "Are you an idiot or something?" she asked him.

"Martha!" Ellen said, offended.

"Martha!" The other girl mimicked her. She turned to Artie and shook him by the shoulders. "Honestly, you believe you could be _that_ careless?"

Artie hung his head in shame. "I screwed up."

Martha climbed onto the receptionist's desk and swung herself around so she could stand on the other side. "Excuse me for I am a mere uneducated receptionist, but exactly how many times did you have to write five million?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Many times?"

"And you did this over a period of?"

"Four days."

"You _did _know a million had five zeroes, right?"

"There's six."

"Good," Martha said, nodding her head. "So you're telling me you made a mistake of writing four zeroes _every single time_ over four days?"

"That is unlikely," Ellen conceded. "You wrote up the draft contract and once Hermione made the proper corrections you copied it word for word, right? She would have noticed something like that."

He nodded.

"Forgive me for being a cynic here, but I smell foul play." She hopped over to her desk, pressed a series of buttons and held the receiver to her ear. "Yes, is this Hermione? It's Martha here. You're needed down at the reception. Is Draco in the office too? Good. Tell him to come down as well. It's an emergency."

"Wouldn't it make sense if we went up to their office?" asked Ellen.

Martha shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Ellen," she said her voice full of cloying honey. "It would not."

"Pray tell why?"

"Because I'm the _receptionist_. And I'm under contract to stay at my desk unless I'm on break but I refuse to miss out on yelling at Hermione and Draco. That's got to be a once in a lifetime thing. Take a seat," she said, putting on a customer-service smile and pointed to the leather couch beside her desk.

Artie leaned onto the desk. "Thanks, mate. You might've saved me. When Hermione said I screwed up, I just accepted it. She's usually right."

"Usually is not _always,"_ grumbled Martha. "When you're not star struck like me, you see things clearly. What _I_ can't believe is that Ellen believed it too. It's not like she's a stranger to the rich and famous people prancing around her."

"Martha…"

"But I guess that's why you're lucky to have a _girlfriend_ and a _best mate_," she said to him with a cuttingly bland smile. "One accepts you for whoever you turn out to be while the other doesn't take any bullshit."

* * *

If anyone bothered to come in on the pre-Christmas Eve Day (ceremoniously known as the official 'Skip Work, it's _Almost_ Christmas' Day), they could have seen a curious sight of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Artie Sommers, Ellen Kim huddled around the receptionist, Martha Capra's, desk.

"So in short, who benefits from this if it's a fraud?" Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Draco drummed his fingers on Martha's desk. "Director Mar, obviously. She gets all the supplies for a cheap price."

"Let's not forget P&amp;P would have to shoulder the cost for Bughes. They'll be paying little for all those benefits," said Ellen, flicking through the pages of the contract. "Bughes is also one of the companies against Pucey merging with Prewett. He said in a press conference three months back a lack of competition between two big firms would take up all the jobs. He's also against us getting Ministry-approved. Thinks P&amp;P should stick only to civil cases and leave their fingers out of the criminal ones."

"Hate to break up your little talk, but look at this," he said, pointing to a sentence in the middle of a page, "I thought you changed it back, but I remember changing this sentence in the final draft. I think this is the second-to-last version we sent to Mar and Bughes."

"So the culprit is Director Mar then," said Artie. "Her choking on the grape. They must've been staged it."

"The contract fell on the floor and she picked it up," Hermione said. "She must've prepared a separate contract and switched it then."

"Mr. Bughes' shock looked real enough to me," said Draco, the mastermind of deceit and insincere expressions.

"But we can't be sure. You shouldn't go accusing people of things like that without proper proof," said Martha to Hermione and Draco. Hermione turned to Artie and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I assumed you were the one who screwed up, I should have had more faith in you."

"Don't worry about it, even I didn't have enough faith in myself."

Everybody turned to look at Draco shuffling in his shoes. "What?" he said, turning away. "He's not_ my _intern. Why do I have to apologise?" Hermione shot him a glare and punched him on the shoulder. "Fine, fine! Artie, I'm sorry for doubting you. Not that I had _any_ reason for doing so." The three girls shot another glare at him but he shrugged it off, that was the closest thing he was going to give to Artie.

"You should you tell Mr. Prewett and Mr. Pucey about this. I think they would be the best people to handle this sort of thing," said Ellen, looking uncertain.

"Or we could just ask for a re-sign," suggested Martha. She picked up the receiver and listened to the shrill ring. "I'll ask the Mar Company receptionist to schedule you in for a quick appointment today. The receptionist community is close."

Ellen rolled her eyes as Martha crossed the fingers on her free hand together, to show just how tight-knit the community was and she shook her head.

"Hello, Jenny. This is Martha. Merry Christmas to you, too! I was wondering if you could do me a small favour…"

* * *

"Come in," Jenny said when Hermione had announced her arrival at the Mar Company. "You may see the Director now."

"Miss Granger," Director Mar said to her. She sat on a couch next to her desk, and sipped on cup of coffee. "Why did you ask to meet me? We've already signed the deal. Everything's confirmed and ready to go." The way she smiled made Hermione realize she knew _exactly_ what she was here for. _It is her! She's the one who's doing this._

"I believe we made a little mistake," Hermione began, taking the seat offered to her. She gritted her teeth and fought to stay calm. Honesty was the best path to take. She would admit their mistake and see what to do from there.

"Really?" said Director Mar with a condescending grin on her face. It was the same expression Hermione wore after she devoured a whole jar of cookies on a Friday night. And in the same way she felt sick after finishing all the chocolate goodness, Hermione could only hope Director Mar would feel sick and _defeated_ by the time she walked out of this room.

Come on, she was the heroine of the story; fate_ had _to be working with her. "The contract is different to what we've discussed. We have to re-sign it." She gave a folder for the Director to read over.

"So it is. Lucky for me the latter contract works out in my favour. The contract's not going to change… again."

"Director Mar!" She wanted to strangle the woman, but being bound under the social contract, she restrained herself, choosing to go through the Potions Solubility flow-chart in her head. It calmed her a little. "Did you replace the contract?"

"What do you mean?" she asked with an air of innocence. "That's a serious accusation. Do you have any evidence of this?"

"No," admitted Hermione.

"Didn't think so. If you've got any evidence come and charge me. Otherwise, tell your boss how you made a mistake. He's not the type to believe in conjectures."

A noise thrummed in her head and she turned green at the thought of having to shoulder the responsibility of the mess. Artie might get some of the blame, P&amp;P would never consider him as an employee after this mess but she would… she could lose her job over this. Though she was the company's rising star, a cute '_whoopsie daisy'_ or _'te-he! I made a mistake'_ couldn't cover losing 4,950,000 galleons. She was going to get the Hogwarts equivalent of expulsion.

Fired.

Hermione Granger, who had graduated top of her year from Salem, was going to be fired. She would lose her dream job, where her boss allowed her to choose from the broad range of cases, she would never again feel the satisfaction of completing an assignment, knowing that she had helped someone and contributed to the good of society...

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

"Nothing you _would_ do," she retorted.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione snatched the folder away from the director and stormed out of the reception. She grabbed a handful of powder and yelled "Pucey &amp; Prewett Firm". As much as she hated herself right now, she would _not _cry in front of Director Mar. She climbed out of the fireplace and ran to seek refuge in the office she shared with Draco.

Her tears resided when she saw the lone man sitting in their office, finishing up on the accounts and her heart leapt at the sight of him. Here was someone she could rely on. Draco Malfoy was incredible at connoting schemes. With his help she could succeed.

"Malfoy?" she called out to him and she fidgeted, pulling out random books from the self-reference shelf by the door.

"Hm?" He didn't look up from his cup of disgusting sweet coffee brewed with exactly sixty coffee beans. During college, he had an insane obsession of adopting rituals of great men in hopes of becoming one. He didn't know if it pulled him onto such a path but it got him through college. That itself was a miracle.

"Director Mar did it and..."

He saw her expression and his heart plummeted. "You couldn't get her to re-sign the contract. She's not the type to leave evidence hanging round either. I bet she burned the real contract first thing."

"Draco Malfoy, you know how much I love you?" said Hermione.

When she asked him that Draco should have taken it as a signal to grab his tailored coat and run for the door. The bushy-haired woman in front of him was bad news and she was about to drag him into her personal tragedy.

"Tell me something I don't know," said Draco as he rolled his eyes. "How long have we been having the affair for? Three years?"

"Try five," said Hermione smiling.

"Wow, time sure flies."

"Seriously, Malfoy. You don't know what a delight you are." Hermione sniffed and tried to brush the tears away from her eyes before Draco could notice. But he did.

"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Draco, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean 'you'?" she asked, taking a deep breath. "You mean 'us', right?"

"Oh _hell_, no. Granger. I am not getting involved in this," said Draco. "We're going to tell P&amp;P exactly what happened."

"Without evidence they can't believe us. You know how they work."

"Um-hum."

Hermione pursed her lips, indignant. "We're a team. We are only as strong as our weakest link!" she said. "I need help."

Draco stared out of the window for a bit, he drummed his fingers on the table, an inane bad habit which had driven him mad when he first saw her do it. Then he started hearing phantom taps so he picked up her little quirk whenever he thought, having decided real taps sounded more _sane_ and preferable.

"Please," she said, her voice wobbled and she sounded like she would burst into tears if he said no. "Give me a way out, a plan. Anything."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._ The seconds to Hermione amounted to infinity as he made his choice. "I have a plan. But it might not work," he said.

Her smile blossomed and his heart zoomed around his ribcage. Despite the resolution he made countless times throughout the last five years, he didn't like seeing Hermione upset. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to prove himself as the Prince Charming and rescue the damsel in distress? Even though the princess was pretty much betrothed with another prince. Not that the Weasel was a prince!

"Anything is better than nothing. What's the plan?"

A large part of it started like this.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Merry Christmas and a happy new year!**


	3. Chapter Two: Lip Lock

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Two: Lip Lock

* * *

Someone once said the most private place could be found in the most public of places. Following this logic, they confirmed their Secret Plan in the staff lunch room.

"What do you think?" Draco asked as he did his best to ignore the hygiene standards in a place people prepared food in. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why people left noodles in the sink. It was insane, disgusting!

Hermione, in much better spirits, poured the remains of her cup noodles down the sink and under Draco's insistence, ran the basin with water until everything disappeared down the drain."How do we get the Polyjuice?" She winced, remembering the first time she used the potion. "We don't have enough time to brew it."

"I can get some."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're in contact with the League of Evil?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Blaise."

"Oh," said Hermione shortly. She needed no further elaboration. "He's not doing anything illegal these days… right?"

"If breaking hearts counts as a crime, he belongs in Azkaban," said Draco, scowling. "He uses it as a quick getaway."

"Who does he pretend to be?"

"Me," he sighed. "I lost a stupid bet and gave him a few hairs on my head. Plus, I'm his only friend. He lost all his male friends when he stole their girlfriends."

Hermione scoffed and shook her head and wondered why Draco was friends with awful people. She leaned back in her chair and stretched. "You have the most awful friends."

"Don't say bad things about people I care about."

"You keep making comments about meant Ron," she countered.

Draco looked at Hermione and grabbed her by the shoulders in mock courtesy. "So Granger, how are you and Weaselbee? Happy playing house together, I presume? Does he plan to pop the big question anytime soon? Can I be one of your bridesmaids? You might not be able to tell, but I'm quite a stunner in a dress."

Hermione shook her head, horrified at the idea. "Nothing like that. In fact…"

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No, it's nothing. But I am annoyed with him right now."

"What, did he throw away your bonus card when you needed one more stamp to get a discount or something?"

Hermione glared at Draco. "You couldn't possibly understand."

Draco grinned self-indulgently, showing off his designer-brand watch. "Nope, sorry I can't sympathize with being poor."

"We're not poor," said Hermione defensively. "It's just hard to buy a proper piece of property. That's why I'm trying to save every knut I can. Too bad it's now against the law to exchange Muggle money with Galleons or I'd be loaded. _Of course_, some idiot had to crash the wizarding economy and ruin it for everyone else!"

"Er—" interjected Draco, knowing he had to stop Hermione from ranting or they'd be here until nightfall…

"What is with men and Quidditch? I suppose I'm being sexist and there is a glaring example of Ginny running off to play and write for the sports—not that there's anything wrong with it—except you're playing one of the most dangerous sport created since civilization started; I'm sure the gladiator rings were safer than a game of Quidditch—"

Draco cringed. It was a bad idea to ask her about Ron. "Stop!" he said, covering his ears. "I'm not Ron, so don't vent your frustrations at me."

Hermione's glare—she'd been glaring at Draco—softened. "Sorry."

"Remind me never to ask you what your personal life's like," he said, shaking his head.

"You're the best."

"I know." They shared a smile three shades more affectionate than necessary. He unfolded his arms and at a business-like distance, squeezed her shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Thank you," she said. The kettle reflected a warped picture of his hand that lingered on her shoulder and her hand crept up to touch his. Artie stepped into the room at the most inopportune time. He blushed and turned around, leaving in one swift motion.

Draco's hand flew off her shoulder and Hermione's dropped to her side. She scowled at the door to the lunchroom and yelled, "Seriously? He's going to run?"

Artie, who had been hiding behind the door, poked his head out and waved with a sheepish grin on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to intrude… I didn't meant to run away—"

"But you did," Hermione interrupted.

"Like a girl," added Draco with extra viciousness, embarrassed Artie had caught him off guard. Not that he had been doing something immoral. Yet he knew resting his hand on her shoulder and keeping it there for an unreasonable amount of time was… bad. Inappropriate. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Hey, cowering from fear is not a feminine trait."

Artie licked his lips and spread his arms out as though he was preparing himself in some sort of sacrificial ritual. "Do what you want with me."

"Don't swing that way," Draco said, shaking his head.

"No, thank you," she replied.

* * *

**(23rd December)**

People walked in and out of the Mar company. Hermione and Draco took advantage on the human need to eat lunch. They crouched beneath bushes on a lookout for suitable candidates. After a few minutes of prowling, Draco pointed at a couple on a bench who was eating their sandwiches and were engaged in a quiet but intense discussion.

"Those two?"

"Yeah, it's safe bet. They _have_ to work here," she said, looking around. The place is good too. Quiet: no one would walk in on us."

He nodded grimly. This was the part of the plan he felt most uncomfortable about. They approached the lunching pair from behind—"_Stupefy_," they whispered in unison.

The lunch-couple slouched forward. Hermione and Draco levitated the pair and took them around the side of the building. Hermione, having stripped an unconscious person before (she had sneaked into the Ministry using the same method) dressed herself in the lady's pantsuit and pulled a few strands of hair from the woman's head. She uncapped the Polyjuice potion with a _pop!_ placed the hairs into the potion and swallowed the concoction in one gulp.

"Yuck, this stuff is nasty," Draco said, and Hermione saw his features morphing. Within seconds, she saw two identical men; one unconscious and stripped down to his underwear and the other wore a navy suit, scowling at the awful aftertaste of Polyjuice potion.

"Let's get moving," Draco said after hiding the bodies in the bushes. They passed through the firm's double doors and Hermione nodded at the security guard who gave her a smile in return.

They entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The previous day, Hermione managed to get the layout of the Mar Company and it turned out a filing room on the third floor stored their company's files that needed processing.

"Let's go replace that contract," Draco said, shifting from one leg to the other. He wasn't brave and if it wasn't for Hermione, he wouldn't have attempted such a plan with a ten-foot pole.

"The contract would be kept in files room, right? Level three."

The elevator doors opened and the pair looked left and right before leaving the elevator. "It's here," said Draco pointing to the door at the end of the corridor.

Hermione tried for the door and it rattled against her grasp. "It's locked." She took out a hairpin from her bag and began picking the door.

"You know, magic would be so much faster," murmured Draco, still unconvinced she could replace a key with wire.

"But traceable. And the whole point is _not _to be traced." She gritted her teeth as she felt the time tick away. The Polyjuice would last for half an hour, so every second was precious to them. "Let's hope that the Mar Company has a coherent filing system."

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Hermione gave Draco an 'I told you so' look before slipping into the room. Inside there were shelves and on the shelves were boxes of folders and files lined together like tombstones. Draco shut the door behind them and pointed to the left side of the room. "You start from the left, and I'll start from the right." He pulled out a box and saw the number on its side. "1998."

Hermione rushed over to Draco's side. "Much closer than mine. I was in the 1960s. That's when the company started." She jerked her thumb at the boxes on the shelf in the middle of the room. "Think it could be from there?"

"It makes sense." He walked over and nodded. "Thank goodness for Director Mar's filing system. This makes everything so much easier—they're marked by months here."

Draco pulled out the box labeled 'December' and rummaged through its contents. His hands ran through a series of files before he stopped at a black one with the gold inscription Pucey and Prewett on the bottom right corner. "It's here!"

The rattle of the door knob ruined their moment of triumph and their happy faces morphed into ones of horror. Hermione darted to Draco's side and replaced the old contract with the new one (identity theft, trespassing, forging; go big or go home).

Draco pulled out his wand and set the old contract on fire. The file violently combusted and an orange-green flame reduced the paper to black soot just as the door swung open.

"Follow my lead." Hermione pulled him down by his tie and crushed her lips against his.


	4. Chapter Three: Three Storeys Down

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Three: Three Storeys Down

* * *

Hermione's had a philosophy, when in doubt, resort to clichés. There was a reason why they were clichés, and that was because they had worked many times before. Taking pointers from what one was often portrayed to do when caught in the file room (one in where you were _not _supposed to be in), she grabbed Draco by his tie—she had always wanted to mash lips with someone by grabbing his or her tie—and pressed her lips against his. She found Draco more than willing–Merlin was that his tongue?—Hermione clenched her eyes shut.

Kissing. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. Even though he wasn't in his body, she was still kissing _him! _Bad bad bad bad. All this was caused by the stress from undercover missions and imminent danger, she decided.

"Alex?"

Hermione broke off the kiss and looked behind her. Draco lifted his head up to see a woman standing with a file in her hand. Her face was white and her hands shook. She looked as though she was about to collapse.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," she said, leaning against one of the shelves for support. "You really were cheating on me!"

Hermione gave him a nudge on the shoulder. She glared at him and jerked her head at the woman, gesturing for him to do something.

"Baby…" he said awkwardly. "It was a mistake."

The woman's head shot up and she stared at him with hostile confusion. Draco gulped and he placed a hand on the small of Hermione's back, signaling for her to run and never look back.

"I'm so, so, sorry," said Draco, his voice wobbling. "I love you; don't leave me. Please?"

The woman approached the couple with fury in her eyes. She slapped Draco on the cheek and he winced at the sharp sting.

"Who the fuck are you?!" roared the woman. She grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Alex, what is going on, I—" She froze and took a few uncertain steps back. Then she whipped out her wand and pointed it at the two imposters. "You're not Alex, are you?"

Draco had placed his weight onto the balls of his feet and aligned his body towards the door. Hermione shifted sideways to block the woman's aim to the door. She held both hands up. "I'm sorry he cheated on you, but—"

Two things happened. Draco sprinted towards the door and yanked it open. The woman in front of Hermione shot a hex at her and she flew backwards into the row of shelves, taking boxes down with her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and it felt as though someone had poured gasoline and set her chest on fire. She took sharp breaths and fought to keep her consciousness. The last thing she needed was to become deadweight.

"SECURITY!"

Hermione closed her eyes and stopped trying to hold her head up. She wouldn't be able to escape with that hex, for it hurt like hell. _At the very least, Draco got out of this, _she thought lazily. She heard a gasp in the background and someone was shaking her.

"Now's not the time to be taking a nap! We've got to run!" He dragged her onto her feet and they ran towards the nearest office. "It's not a good hiding place, but they'll assume we've ran downstairs," he said.

Hermione nodded and coughed as she came out of her daze. She pushed him under an office desk by his head and crawled in beside him, pulling a chair in front of them. This all served as an ineffective cover as the walls facing the corridors were glass. When she lifted her hand off Draco's head, she gasped in horror.

"What is it?" Draco asked. Tuffs of blond hair sprouted from a field of brown.

"You're changing back," whispered Hermione, panic colouring her voice. At the same time, she was morphing from a dirty blonde back to her normal brunette self.

"Apparate us out of here." Draco grabbed her arm and scrunched his eyes, preparing himself for a side-along.

Hermione shut her eyes and thought of the café next to the P&amp;P building. "I can't," she said with mounting despair. "They have anti-Apparition wards. We have to leave this building to Apparate out of here."

Draco blinked a few times, trying to process this. "Should we hand ourselves over?"

Adrenaline rushed into her brain like a tsunami wave and she tried her best to fight the shakes. She couldn't fail here. "They'll have all perimeters sealed off until they catch us."

Draco laughed shakily. "How about surrendering?" If they surrendered now, they might let them off easily. He had a feeling as they waited longer their ideas would grow more desperate and dangerous. He didn't know if he had the guts or the insanity to execute them.

"This isn't the best plan, but it might work. I think. How about we jump out of the window and then I'll Apparate us while we're still in the air."

The expression on Draco's face was priceless. He looked like a petrified goldfish. "You are—" he spluttered, trying to comprehend the absurdity of the idea.

"It's the only way we can get out of here," she said, trying her best to convince him. "I can't think of any other way. You can do it. We can climb onto that cabinet under a disillusionment charm, and jump out of the building. The Anti-Apparation wards can't affect us once we're outside. It's crazy, but it'll work."

"It's the third storey!" he exclaimed. She clamped her hand over his mouth and put a finger to his lips; he nodded and spoke in a lower tone. "I think we should hand ourselves in."

"No way. We'll get arrested if we get caught. That's identity theft, trespassing, forgery, assault _and_ vandalism," she said. "Forget about being fired, we'll be thrown in prison. Look, if you have a better idea let's hear it. If you don't, go with my one."

He shook his head. "This is insane," he said. He'd rather face a whole platoon of security guards than jump out from the third storey.

"But it's do-able. I've done it before." She looked behind them and saw a troop of security guards run past the office and into the storeroom. Then she turned to face him, her eyes pleading. "They'll be here once they've finished inspecting the storeroom!"

"You sure we shouldn't surrender?" he asked one last time, giving her a shaky grin. "You could be my date to my family reunion in prison." She nodded and he took a deep breath before he muttered a disillusionment charm over them.

When she was sure no one was watching, she pushed the chair away and crawled out from under the table. "We can do this," Hermione whispered. She wished he wasn't so afraid of taking risks. Ron would've followed her plan without question.

Draco only grunted in reply. Each time someone passed by, they froze, fearing any movement would betray their location. After a few minutes, they were sweating from climbing up the book shelf and they perched on the window ledge. He let out a small groan of pain. There wasn't a lot of space on top of the cabinet so Hermione pressed against his back and the added weight made the ledge cut into his thighs like a knife.

"Here we go," she said, sounding faint and not so sure of herself. "Three… two… one…"

Draco and Hermione slid out of the window and plummeted to kiss the ground. She felt a ticklish feeling rise up her stomach and her toes began to tingle as they free-fell out of the building. She heard Draco's muffled scream and she held onto him for dear life.

_Deliberation_— and she soon realized though she might've been able to do it with one, there was no way she could Apparate two people in this state…

The impact hurt less than she imagined. With a stroke of luck, they landed into a bush. She tested her ankles and let out a sigh of relief. The fall hadn't broken anything of hers so she was still in commission. People were staring down the window and yelling, having heard the crash. Their disillusionment charm had somehow survived the fall so as long as no one touched them, their identities were safe. She turned to Draco to grab him and run.

Draco had experienced ground-shock when leapt off his broom in second year. But this sort of pain was a different feeling all together. He supposed he was lucky he could still feel, but pain licked the balls of his feet to his ankle to his knees. He hissed as the agony finally screamed up his thighs and settled in his gut. It burned like mad and there was an explosion of white light in his eyes; he knew he was losing his consciousness...

_"...I just need to put in these specific scenes. Don't worry it'll be fine."_

_"His... they can piece together all..."_

_"Take care of..."_

Starting from the voices inside of his head, Draco turned to see Hermione's horrified face. She was screaming…

Blood trickled down Draco's nose and Hermione bit back a sob. She hadn't made it out of the jump because of luck. Hermione had landed on top of Draco and made him a cushion. A pin-cushion. A branch jutted out of his flesh; a sharp stake pierced his skin. She swished her wand and snapped the branch from the bush. He gave a shout. There were voices and she heard footsteps behind them.

_Deliberation, determination destination._

"Who's there?" she heard someone say around the corner, but before they could reach her, the two of them disappeared.

* * *

Nurses rushed towards Draco and levitated him onto a bed. Hermione grabbed onto his arm and refused to let go. Someone pulled her away and pushed her into a chair.

She could hear distant voices asking whether she was all right, and what happened. Hermione tried her best to answer the questions about Draco's condition but conveyed little else. One nurse suggested Hermione was in shock, and he was right. She was shocked. Shocked she relished her accelerated heart-rate, the adrenaline causing blood roar in her ears, how her brain worked twice as fast, and everyone around slowed to a saunter her eyes. Her life hadn't been so exciting–no–hadn't been in so much _danger_ since the fateful and final battle in Hogwarts. She hated how she relished the feeling of being in control, at home, and dare she say it, _settled_ in the presence of danger, when she felt so little of those qualities in her day-to-day life.

Someone wrapped a blanket around her and started to clean her leg with antiseptic. She winced as the alcohol bit her fresh wounds. "The Healers are tending to him now," said the Healer. "It'll be a while until we know the full extent of injuries. He lost a lot of blood and he stopped breathing for a minute but we managed to resuscitate him…"

She could only nod as the nurse spoke and she felt even guiltier for how great she felt. "Can I see him? I need to go. I have to see him." The nurse held her down as she tried to stand.

"Miss Granger, you must stay calm—"

"It's my fault, if anything happens to him..."

A scream reverberated through the halls first a few meters away, then directly in front of her. A clean hand grabbed her own bloodied ones. "Draco's dead?!" A woman wrenched the nurse's shoulder backwards and within three seconds, Hermione was choking on a silk scarf; breathing holes covered by the steady pressure of the woman's hand smothering her face. Hermione thrashed and bucked the woman to the floor before there was any harm done. The nurse kept her down as she glared at Hermione.

"Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson! I'm down as Draco Malfoy's next of kin. Now get your hands off me or I will see you in court!" she screeched. At her words, the grip loosened on her. No longer pinned to the ground, she collected herself and glared at the nurse who mumbled an apology. "My wand started glowing—that would only happen when he's really hurt, right?"

"We set the wands to glow when the patient is brought into hospital unconscious," the nurse answered.

"So he is dead!" she wailed.

"Draco Malfoy is not dead. He's unconsciousandhaving surgery right now."

Upon hearing the news, Pansy sagged as though she were a puppet with her strings cut. "If he's not dead, then why did I get all worked up for?" The woman turned to face Hermione, her bob swishing with her. She looked like a mess with her eyeliner smudged and dress askew.

Hermione looked at Pansy with eyes wide and felt as though she would never be able to close her mouth again. "You're Pansy Parkinson? B-But you look…"

"Beautiful?" she supplied.

"Yes," agreed Hermione, but she meant say 'different'. She no longer looked like the pug-faced girl she went to school with. Instead, she looked more like a doll… puberty sure did wonderful things. Wow, why didn't puberty hit her like a bus, too?

Savoring Hermione's wonder and attention on her, Pansy leaned in and whispered into Hermione's ear. "It's with the help of modern technology."

Hermione gave her a puzzled look; she didn't understand. Then Pansy pointed to her nose, cheekbones and jaw.

"Fixed them."

"Huh."

Pansy nodded and dug through her purse. She pulled out a mirror and gasped at the sight of herself. "Do you have any wet tissues?"

"No, sorry."

Pansy sighed and pulled out her handkerchief, trying to clean up as much as possible. She observed herself with a pocket mirror and snapped it shut, satisfied with her handiwork. "I'll need to redo my make up later," she said.

The curly-haired girl could only nod, still astonished how much the introduction of technology and science changed the wizarding community's views on Muggles. Wizards regarded them as equals instead of treating them like sub-humans scratching in dirt. She turned to study Pansy, who had procured a comb from her bag and was straightening her bob. She had ruffled it when she was strangling Hermione.

"What? Can't take your eyes off me? Sorry, I don't swing that way," she said when she caught Hermione's stare.

"I'm just surprised."

"That I'm talking to you?" Pansy shrugged. "Getting plastic surgery changed more than my face. Let's just say I'm grateful for what the Muggle doctors did for me… I can't hate the kind of people who made my life better." She flicked her hair behind her shoulders and smiled at Hermione. "I was miserable bitch because I was ugly. And now? I'm a _happy_ bitch."

"Okay," said Hermione and nothing else, for she was unsure how to respond to that.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" asked Pansy, playing with the creases on her scarf. "Wouldn't have guessed, the way Draco goes on about you."

"Malfoy talks about me?" said Hermione with interest to which Pansy gave a smirk and a knowing smile. "What?"

"Just wondering if you're pretending to be dense or not. But that doesn't seem right; you are famous for being smart. What? Was he drunk? How could he have agreed to something like that? He's the king of rationality. Wouldn't change his socks without a valid reason."

"The situation was desperate," said Hermione, feeling defensive.

Pansy shook her head. "He hates pain. That's why he runs away from fights, can't stand to get hit."

Hermione had been so desperate, she hadn't seen the severity of what she had suggested to do. Sure, not getting caught was important and their jobs had been on the line but she had been reckless. She risked their lives because she wanted to succeed and Draco followed along. _Why did he do as I said?_

"It was the bloody shrub's fault."

"You'd have broken both of your legs or you'd be dead if it weren't for the 'bloody shrub'—" Hermione trailed off and she saw Draco in a hospital gown. He looked as pale as death but he gave her a shaky smirk.

"Are you all right?" Pansy cried, standing up and giving him her seat. He held her shoulder for support and sat down. "Are you supposed to here?"

Draco waved her question away. "Had to make sure things were all right," he said, staring down at the stitches on Hermione's leg. He whistled. "That's going to scar."

"Malfoy! _You_ had a twig go through your stomach!" exclaimed Hermione. He shouldn't be walking here, making sure everything was okay. Making _she _was okay.

"Yeah, I know," said Draco, sniggering. "I was there too. By the way, I reckon Alex's the girl."

"What?"

"Our plan. The woman figured out she wasn't talking to 'Alex' because I responded when she was talking to Alex. That's how she knew we were imposters."

"Does it hurt?" cooed Pansy, interrupting. She placed her palms on Draco's cheeks and examined his face. "You didn't scar your precious face, did you?"

"I thought you were in critical condition..." Hermione said, wondering how she came to this idea.

"By that? Pah."

"I can't believe you jumped out of a building for her. The most romantic thing you've ever done for _me_ was buy flowers you picked yourself!"

Draco sent Pansy a death glare and she winked back at him mouthing a _what_. Hermione pursed her lips, bemused at the exchange and shifted backwards when Pansy lunged towards her and pressed up close to her face for the second time that day. "I don't think I like you."

* * *

"Here's something for when you're bored." Hermione threw him a Rubik-cube and he caught it with his hands. They were alone now. Pansy had left to open up her bar and Blaise popped in for a visit an hour earlier. He had made a sick joke about Draco having a stick up his ass before the medical staff sent him home for being a nuisance.

"What's this?"

"A puzzle, you have to twist and turn it until all the colours face one side each. It took me a while—" Her stomach growled and she looked away.

Draco examined his new toy and started twisting each side as he said: "Why don't you head home? Staying here won't do either of us any good. Director Mar has probably put two and two together, but I doubt she'd be able to prove forgery. My guy is… good. Landing myself in the hospital was unfortunate, but we'll say it was an unhappy coincidence for two tragic events to take place on the same time, same day. No one saw our faces, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "They didn't. I'll stay for a little while longer," she said, still feeling guilty about how rejuvenated she had felt after the incident and the extent of his injuries because of her recklessness.

"Guarding prized company property?" he asked, leaning back into his pillow.

"No, I'm not here to protect company property."

"You're not?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm here because I'm worried about you," she admitted and a pink hue tinged her cheeks. He gravitated towards her, and cheered when she shifted and pressed so closely to the bed-frame that her knees turned white. It was just like Hermione to admit something like that casually. Those honest words, freely given away, warmed him like a satisfying meal. Yet at the same time it made him feel small.

A team of security guards were looking for them right now. Director Mar was undoubtedly yanking out her hair over the forged contract, and Draco wondered how years and years of secrecy and denial faded like a spectre with each thundering beat of his heart. He stared out of the window; people on the streets hustled like ants, their paths and day unhindered by the frightful retreat of apprehension towards The Unspeakable. The time was right. He should say it! "For the longest time I've felt—" Hermione cell phone rang, interrupting his sentence.

Jarred either by her realizing how Draco would've ended the sentence or the shrill tune, Hermione sprung backwards as she fumbled for her phone. She gave a smile which looked more like a wince and apologized for the intrusion. Draco just shook his head.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, her hand cupped over her mouth and back turned towards the door. "Um, yeah. A little bit."

Her reaction and each persistent ring had slashed and chased back all the misgivings and reasons as to why The Unspeakable remained unspoken.

"I know. Um... yup. I'll remember to buy it on the way home."

At the end of the day, there was a person already there for her. Nothing would change that.

"I love you too. See you soon." Hermione hung up and turned back towards Draco, a polite smile on her face. "It's Ron. He was wondering when I'd be coming home..."

Draco waved her off, plastering a disinterested look on his face. "Run along, it's not like I'll heal faster with you next to me."

Hermione gave him a pat on the shoulder and left the room. As he heard her footsteps fade he let out a loud thank you to the sweet heavens for whatever potion the Healers had made him drink. All plugged up, he could blame his temporary lapse of sanity on the narcotics. His thoughts rattled around as he imagined how horrible the situation could have been if he had been a few seconds quicker in stating his piece. The agony would be incomparable even to what he would feel when the potion wore off, when his stomach and legs dragged him through the fiery pits of hell and back. His injuries were worth it though. The case – in his concern at least, was taken care of, crisis averted, done and dusted – never to be spoken of again. He would gladly treat the aftermath in the same way too. Draco wanted nothing in return, except maybe a moment of privacy to have an old-fashion bawl, which he did. Just the thought of an enormous secret shared between himself and Hermione sufficed, and it swelled his munificent, little heart.


	5. Chapter Four: Feelings Lie

Chapter 3: Chapter Two: Feelings Lie

* * *

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Four: Feelings Lie

* * *

**(Two days later)**

Snow covered the sidewalks in dirty sludge and made everyone's shoes wet, but most people out on Christmas didn't care or even notice this sort of thing. They were too busy being in love.

The infamous red-head, whom he referred as The Weasel, Hermione's steady boyfriend (not that Draco had anything to say in the matter… that'd be weird) had his arms wrapped around a pretty blonde. She styled her hair in soft ringlets, and had a perfect figure for a magazine.

_Ron Weasley, that pathetic bastard,_ thought Draco. _How could_ _you cheat on Hermione? AND ON CHRISTMAS NO LESS!_

The couple walked into a hotel and Draco almost lost them at the revolving doors. He caught a glimpse of red and he ducked behind the counter, ignoring the faint and concerned gasp of the receptionist.

"Hello, sir," the receptionist said in his best customer voice. Drunk people at six already? Well, it was Christmas after all.

Draco pressed his head against the mahogany table top and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. In a few moments he planned to expose that LYING SONUVA Draco always knew he was. "Sh," Draco silenced him, "I'm on a mission right now."

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist breathed.

"Yup." He shifted his body so he remained hidden behind the counter. Any moment now, he was going to catch Ron red-handed. Draco peeked out from behind the desk and saw the red head and the blonde_holding _hands. Their hands never left each other, even when they ate. Draco made a face at the inefficiency of their consumption methods. The blonde giggled when the man kissed her hand. "In plain view too. To put it on _your _words, you're somewhat famous you know. Have some shame!"

He stomped over to the couple and prepared to rip Ron the-bastard-Draco-always-knew-he-was Weasley into the next century.

"Zho's this?" the blonde woman said, a worry line creasing her angelic—almost too beautiful to be human—face. But with more important things to do than stare at this exquisite piece of femininity, Draco skidded into place and slammed both of his palms onto the couple's table for dramatic effect, Interrogation-Room Style.

"Weasley, you—"

"Hm?" The red head turned and Draco's jaw-dropped.

"Bill Weasley?"

"That's me," the man replied with a wolfish grin.

Of course. He should have realized. There was no way Ron could snag such a babe anyway. The flaming red hair was a _family_ trait and Ron had what, five brothers or something? Their family had bred like rodents. They called their home "The _Burrow" _for crying out loud.

"And you're Fleur Delacour," he said.

"Wealsey, not Delacour."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Draco laughed. "What a _happy _coincidence. I came over because I thought…" Draco started, thinking quick on his feet. He looked at the food on the table. "Your steak was too raw!"

And it was. The slab of steak swam in bloody juice and dyed the potatoes into a pastel pink colour.

"That's unacceptable," he continued on. "You should send it back."

Billy laughed and seemed to accept the explanation. "Thanks mate, but I ordered it like this on purpose."

"After a werewolf scratched zim," Fleur said, "ze likes his meat a little zit raw."

"That's, er… wonderful," said Draco, retreating. "Enjoy your meal then."

Bill and Fleur nodded at him, the latter still wondering why he had approached their table.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Bye!"

Bah humbug.

That was the last time, Draco promised to himself, he would embarrass himself like that. There was no way Ron would cheat on Hermione. Even _he _wasn't stupid_ enough_ to risk his relationship in such a way. Draco headed towards the Floo, ignoring the obvious stares from restaurant goers and the receptionist. "Never again," he vowed. "Never again."

* * *

The Christmas lights lit the buildings which surrounded them in a cheery glow. Ron kept his body close to Hermione's, and kept his best to keep them warm as they trudged through the streets of Paris.

Hermione stopped to admire the view around her, and although she had to admit sometimes wizards had no idea how to operate Muggle technology, the floating lanterns and fairy lights strung across the trees complemented each other.

That was more than she could say about how Molly used washing machines. Not that she had the right to complain. She ought to be grateful, Hermione chided herself.

The Weasleys had built them a temporary (but not so temporary because Ron had been living there for five years and two for her) extension next to The Burrow. The Weasley family referred to the property fondly as the The (Love) Nest.

But one day she had come home to find their small apartment flooded. And she just _loved_ the fact Ron had given Molly a spare key without consulting her first.

If there was one thing Hermione loved, it was having her privacy invaded. Ha, ha, ha!

But at least, she consoled herself, the laundry's getting done. When they decided to move in together, Hermione had anticipated that Ron would be a slob. She didn't realise she'd be a slob too. One would think charming the laundry and dishes to do their own dirty work (haha) would be a piece of cake, but somehow Hermione and Ron never got round to waving their wands and chanting three syllables.

"What are you thinking of?" Ron asked, his warm breath dancing on the planes of her cheek.

"We need to do our dishes when we get back."

"Hermione! We are in one of the most romantic places on earth and you're thinking about the dishes back home?" exclaimed Ron, slapping the back of his hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress. He picked her off her feet and whirled her around. She screamed in delight as powdered snow swished around them. Ron placed her down on the ground again, this time facing the Eiffel Tower. It glowed in the distance; its light blurred by the fog and snow.

Ron pointed at the Tower. "Paris! Love! Romance! And Ginny's yelling at me for not having a single romantic bone in my body—"

Hermione shoved a handful of snow into his mouth. It soaked her mittens and she laughed at his expression.

"Hermione!" He planted a trail of kisses and Hermione giggled and sighed in his embrace.

"I don't think it'll ever get better than this," he murmured in his ears, tightening his hold on her. Hermione's scrunched her face and hugged Ron even tighter, her heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

**(1900 London)**

Draco opened the door to his modest apartment, hoping to nurse his public mortification with a gallon of ice-cream and some sappy Muggle film on the telly designed for single fools like him. Maybe some silly soap opera with a tragic storyline and childhood love would air tonight. Draco snorted. Not that he wanted to get back with his childhood love. After the period of insanity he deemed as his "teenage years" passed, Pansy and he discovered the best thing they could do was to stay out of each other's pants (or skirt) and be friends.

"Ah, Draco-_boy_, you're home!" His sometimes-worse-enemy sat on his couch and welcomed him home with open arms. "You look like you're heading for the gallows. Let me guess, you saw a certain brunette today."

"No." He scowled and shoved Blaise's legs off one side of the couch, making room for himself. "And it would be nice if you left me alone for tonight."

"What kind of friend would I be if I left you in such a state?"

"A compassionate one."

A knowing leer flared up Blaise's face. "Ah, so it is about _her_."

Draco sighed and felt a rush of deja vu, knowing from previous times in the last few years exactly how this conversation would end. There was nothing to be done but to give in, and being Draco's best mate since he could count, Blaise had witness him do unbearably worse things. Blaise wouldn't judge him for what he did today. He would find it hilarious. "I saw a certain red-head with a leggy blonde today."

"What? But you said the Weasel and Granger's relationship was _perfect_. What kind of sick kid cheats on their girlfriend on during the Christmas season?"

Draco sighed and sank into the couch, wishing it would swallow him up. "So I followed them."

"Bet you did. I told you you'd have a thing for her when you told me you were working together—"

"To see Fleur Weasley."

"Oh, with his brother's wife? Double nasty—"

"And Bill Weasley."

Blaise snorted and erupted cackles. "You are hopeless! I can't believe you fancy someone you bullied in Hogwarts _and_ is happily in a long-term relationship with Ronald Weasley." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and lowered his voice, hoping what he was about to say next would not only reach Draco's brain — for he had no doubt the blond knew this fact long ago — but his heart. "For all his red-hair, freckles and stupidity, he would _never_ cheat on her."

Draco tried to suffocate himself with a pillow, still scarred from the event. "I don't like her now," grumbled Draco. "I've thought long and hard about it—"

"Proves that you've been thinking a lot about Granger—"

"I just admire all the_ qualities_ she has. While I would want someone _like_ her, it doesn't mean that I want _her_."

"Yeah, yeah. You've told me this all before. And remember? The first time you told me, I determined that a lie. If you were that Pinocchio guy, your nose would reach up to the moon."

Draco sighed. "Okay, maybe I liked her a little bit—"

"Yeah, if you count three years as 'a little bit'."

"I don't even like her."

"And you haven't had a proper girlfriend since, what? Pansy?"

"Being a death eater and having been accused of murdering your father isn't a great quality to have in a potential boyfriend."

"Some people dig the bad boys. I'm living proof of the fact." Blaise watched his friend cross his arms and sulk and sensed Draco was in one of his stubborn moods and decided to give up… for now. He got up from the couch and reached into the fridge. "But you didn't even get convicted. The courts found you innocent. Want anything?"

"But to everyone, I'm the slippery eel that managed to get away." Draco didn't reject the glass of firewhiskey Blaise placed in his hand when he came back from the kitchen.

"Mate, you can't live like this; pining only after a girl who is unavailable, and not looking out for other prospects."

"I'm not doing that. I'm… what?" he asked when he saw Blaise's mouth stretch into a Cheshire-cat grin. Draco blinked a few times, and the firewhiskey had left a strange acrid taste in his mouth.

"We're going out to Parkinson's," said Blaise, beaming. "What's a party without us?"

Draco groaned. "I've told you I didn't want to go. Leave me to my telly and ice-cream."

"Do you think I would allow you to spend the whole night _sulking_?" said Blaise, taking the glass from Draco's hands. "I thought you just said you were going to look for someone else."

Draco shook his head. "I did. But I have a feeling, and it's screaming at me to stay at home."

"Well, I have 'a feeling' too."

"And?

"It's telling me those feelings often lie. C'mon!"

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter Five: How Draco Spent Christmas

Chapter 4: Chapter Three: How Draco Spent Christmas

* * *

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Five: How Draco Spent Christmas and the Morning After

**(2000h London)**

Off the coast, faint reverberations of heavy bass drums and muffled screams of ecstasy pierced the night sky like stars. People of wealth and importance danced and roared in raucous laughter onboard the Parkinson cruise ship. Alcohol flowed and took the place of dead silence in awkward conversations.

"Astoria, I don't know if I told you already, but you look beautiful."

"I'm always beautiful, Theo." She touched the cluster of opals around her neck. Few women could wear the accessory with her aquamarine dress without looking like a tart. "Too bad we can't do anything about your uniform," she said, shaking her head at the boy's attire. She scanned the rowdy, screaming crowd and snorted when she saw Blaise and Draco feeding each other shots. "We don't fit in, do we?"

"No one's like us." He touched her arm and gestured at the people downing copious amounts of alcohol. "And I think that's a great thing. I mean, look at them."

"Queen Bee sure knows how to throw a party," Blaise shouted above the loud music and spun around in his chair to admire the flashing party lights.

"Does the B stand for Bitch?" asked Draco who was oscillating between therapeutic bliss and nausea. "That's Pansy for certain."

Blaise laughed. "Yeah, that word was made for her—Oh, fit bird," he said as a woman in a vintage dress brushed past him.

Draco turned his back to Blaise. "That one over there?"

Draco was pointing to a woman on a couch. Blaise's eyes widened when he recognized her. "No, but that's Astoria Greengrass, the one who stole all the looks in her family."

"Astoria was always beautiful," said Draco, nodding.

"Fancy meeting her here." They lost contact with most of their Slytherin house-mates (Crabbe, Goyle and Nott families) after the War. Last Draco heard of Goyle he had migrated to Finland and decided to settle there. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the Greengrass girls out and about.

"She gave me her first kiss. I think she'd still have a soft spot for me," said Draco.

"Ha," Blaise snorted. "In your dreams! She liked you when she was what, seven? That was more than ten years ago!"

"Bet I could get her to snog me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Your suit if you're wrong."

"You _have_ to confess to Granger if I'm right," said Blaise. Part of the reason why Draco was so hung up over Hermione was because he had never admitted his feelings properly, so by confessing and getting rejected Blaise hoped he would be able to move on. Blaise pushed his friend off his stool and Draco stumbled across the wooden floor. Draco cursed and willed the kaleidoscope of light in his eyes to stop spinning as he made his way across the room.

"He's coming over," Theo said.

"I'm leaving. I've had enough of this party," Astoria said when someone grabbed her wrist. She bit back a scream and the silver charms on her bracelet jangled as she tried to shake him off.

"I'm playing a game, want to join?" he asked, pressing close to her.

"Who'd want to play with you?"

"Stuck up twat, sitting in the corner all by yourself, I thought you needed a friend! That's the only reason I—"

"Let go!" she snapped, ready to jab her sharp heels into the man's toes.

"Astoria Greengrass," said Draco and he stepped between the scowled at the man.

"Draco Malfoy," the man spat, the blond's appearance disgusted him. "I'm not going to bother with the _likes_ of you." The man made a face and went off harassing other people.

"Thank you," she said and at the expense of being rude asked, "Why are you here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Theo. "I don't think he would bother approaching the likes us even after five shots of vodka in Hogwarts."

"We did use to play together," Draco started.

"And…?" Astoria said, crossing her arms. "We've ignored each other since then." When she was seven, Draco was the richest and nastiest boy who zoomed around the courtyard with his cocky grin, showing off his perfect white teeth. What girl in the right mind _wouldn't _fall for him? She had forgotten that Draco was such an obnoxious dork. They hadn't talked to each other since she was like, what? Nine?

"He probably is drunk," Theo whispered behind her. "That'd explain why he's so friendly."

"Are you?" asked Astoria.

"Am I what?"

"Drunk?"

"Merlin, _no. _Is that the only reason you can come up with?" He gave her a grin. "You think too little of yourself."

"He's drunk."

Astoria turned to face Theo, feeling bitter. "Go away, if you don't show up at the right moments then you might as well not show up at all!"

"It's not like I could have helped."

"Yeah, and you're just a kid who never managed to graduate Hogwarts. Go away," she said and when Theo looked like he was about to protest, she turned to smile at Draco, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face.

"I wanted to ask you a question…" Draco said.

"Ask away."

"A rather inappropriate question."

_One-hundred percent, without a doubt, he's drunk,_ she thought. "I rather you not, I'm not interested in you that way. I'm leaving this party. Nice seeing you." She headed out of the ballroom.

Oh. That hurt more than Draco expected even though he hadn't talked to her for more than a decade. Still, when a pretty girl said they felt nothing for you, you would have to have a bulletproof heart to not feel its sting.

"I'll come with you," he said to the witch as she got her shawl from the coat-check. The Floo Room was empty. The night was much too young for normal party-goers to consider leaving.

Draco's pride forbade him to go back to the party. Knowing Blaise, he'd somehow manage to make him confess to Hermione Granger. If Draco managed to get Astoria's number, then he'd let it go. He couldn't let Astoria leave like this.

"Get out, Draco," Astoria said when he climbed into the fireplace with her.

"Are you going to leave me, who's _this_ inebriated to fend for himself at a party like this? You know what would happen to me." He nudged her with his elbow and put on a convincing slur.

"You can't play the defenseless and vulnerable act with me," she said, rolling her at eyes at him. Bad idea. He had the saddest puppy dog eyes and it made her feel as though she _kicked_ him. _Maybe Mother was right, _she thought. _It was time to go back into society and start rekindling friendships. Draco Malfoy might not be a bad start. _"You said you weren't drunk."

"I am one-hundred percent sure I am now." Draco was no longer the richest and nastiest but he still had his cocky grin and his perfect white teeth.

"One cup of coffee," she conceded. "Then we'll both be on our merry way, all right?"

"Perfect."

"Diagon Alley!"

And… she should have Apparated into the café. Curses ran through Astoria's head as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her and tread through heavy snow. All the lights in the lane had been turned on and a song played in the distance, faint, due to the howling wind. As if to convince Astoria he were sick, Draco tottered beside her, covered his mouth with both of his hands, and heaved a few times. However, this was all unnoticed by Astoria, for the snow touched her foot and she could only scowl at the thought of her crystal-encrusted Italian shoes getting soaked.

She liked her shoes—all three hundred pairs of them.

Draco noticed her trembling and took his jacket off, placing it around her shoulders. He caught her pout and stopped in front of her, squatting.

"If you're feeling the need to relieve yourself, I suggest waiting until you find yourself a toilet and having your pants off."

Draco snorted and patted his back. "I'm not drunk enough to eject bodily fluids uncontrollably. Get on. Your shoes are getting wet, aren't they?"

Astoria's heart fluttered and she was pretty certain it wasn't the result of a blocked cardiac artery. "If you insist." She didn't want her shoes ruined. She hugged him tight as they made their way through the snowy lane and felt the warmth of his back against her chest.

When they reached the café, they sat in a booth at the corner of the room. The café buzzed with chatter and laughter with children and adults alike. Draco leaned against the side of the window frame with a laid-back grin. Astoria took a sip of her organic soy-latte, and noted that Draco's espresso remained untouched. She leaned forward to slip a napkin under his cheek. She didn't want to imagine the germs crawling on the window frame.

"Thanks for letting me tag-along," he said. "I didn't want to go back. It only gets crazier as the night wears on. If you're best mates with Blaise Zabini…" Draco trailed off and Astoria motioned for him to continue. In spite of her contempt for the popular clique, she always wondered what the 'popular Slytherins' did in their wild nights. "He thinks I'm heart-broken. He's been trying to make me do stupid things. I'm not by the way," he said with a rush.

"Oh," said Astoria, she hadn't expected Draco to share something like that with her. "I am though."

"Am what? Does hanging out with me count as doing something stupid to you?"

Astoria just gave him a smile with a shrug. Draco tilted his head back until his head hit the wooden backing of their booth and an impish glint lit up his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Come over here," he said, "I think the couple behind us is breaking up."

Astoria raised one eyebrow and got out of her seat. "If this is one of your ploys to make me sit close to you…"

"Come on," he scoffed, "I would have just asked. It's not like you find me disgusting or something." He patted the spot next to him and pressed his ears close to the board, trying to decipher what the people behind were saying.

Curious and thirsty for gossip—a habit which stuck with her from her teenage years—she moved to his side of the booth and pressed her ear against the board, her face inches away from Draco's.

"Who's Belinda?" she asked.

"No idea."

"Unless it's Belinda Johnson?" She remembered sharing a dorm room with a mousy-haired girl by the same name. Astoria adjusted her position on the seat and her knees brushed Draco's. He looked down to where their legs touched and then looked away. Astoria listened with an intent expression on her face and he smiled. She was having much more fun with this than he was. Draco blinked a couple of times, hoping the drowsiness would go away.

"Oh, that's it?" grumbled Astoria as she sat back in a more delicate position. "Because of mutual differences? How _boring. _Don't you think?" She sighed in exasperation when she saw Draco slouched over in his seat, passed out. _So he's the type to fall asleep when he became drunk_, thought Astoria with a grin on her mumbled and Astoria smiled and poked his cheek, unable to help herself. He looked sort of angelic sleeping like that and she just _had_ to mess with him.

"Hey, Draco."

No response. She poked him again, harder this time, but he continued to sleep. Astoria looked around her; the café was still crowded and even now, people were coming into sit and buy hot drinks.

"You could just leave him here," said the voice in her head. Or maybe not. There were two kinds of people in the Wizarding community: those who loved Draco for what he had become, a successful and functional member of society, and those who resented him for what he was, a Death Eater who had gotten full acquittal in his trials. She couldn't leave him alone in public like this.

She touched her wand and Apparated them away from the café.

Draco felt a tingling sensation in his belly-button; he'd come to hate it because of the impending response his body always had following it. "I don't feel so good…" he said, though rather needlessly as he presumed to empty the contents of his stomach.

Astoria screeched as he vomited over her sparkling high-heeled shoes.

* * *

Draco shifted his head on a fluffy pillow and glared at the beam of sunlight hitting his face; the windows in his room faced west, and they didn't get morning sun. "Didn't get to finish my dream…" he said, annoyed. He tilted his head, saw his shoes lined a perfect right-angle with the bed and frowned. "Strange," he murmured, still half-asleep. He yawned as he spoke and flopped back onto his pillow, screwing his eyes shut. "Why would I wear my shoes into my room…?" Then he heard the shower run and froze in fright. _Someone is in the house,_ he thought, _Why would a burglar break into my house to take a shower?! _He was wide awake now. Draco remained motionless on the bed, for he was a coward and tended to be timorous in the face of danger. His gaze travelled up green walls and on the ceiling lined with gray tiles. His apartment's ceiling was cream. Draco sat up, turning his head back and forth as he tried to figure out where he was. "This isn't Blaise's place…" He frowned and tried to recall what happened last night.

Nothing.

He tiptoed and approached the bathroom, and noted the sound of running water had stopped. The door opened just as he prepared to put his ears against it, and Draco sprang back in surprise. "What are you doing here?!"

Astoria looked at him strangely while drying her hair. "This is my house," she said matter-of-factly. "And you spent the night here."

Draco's mouth formed an 'O' shape.

"I suggest you take a shower. After what happened last night… you stink."

Draco gave a shout when he realized Astoria had stripped him down to his boxers. "You took advantage of me?" he accused.

Astoria giggled and sat on her bed, her arms folded across her chest. She smirked at the sight of him trying to preserve his modesty.

"How could you!" He wrapped the white linen sheets around him tighter.

She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of her face. "Go wash up, you smell like a pile of turd."

"I don't know if you know," he said, speaking each word very, very slowly. He often spoke like this to Pansy, half because it pissed her off when he talked that slow and half because Draco knew she needed the time to process his words. "What you did was a crime!"

Astoria gave him a look, completely unimpressed with him. "Who'd want to sleep with you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me that?"

Astoria smirked. "Okay, fine. Who'd want to sleep with a man after they threw up on the girl's favourite pair of shoes?

"What?" asked Draco. "I don't throw up when I'm drunk. Otherwise, I would never risk getting drunk at parties, a loss of control in public is embarrassing."

"You got that right! You _were_ an embarrassment."

"So how did I end up in your bed?"

"_Nothing_ happened," she said, squeezing water out of her long blonde hair, "You passed out so I let you sleep here."

"And my clothes fell off along the way."

Astoria scoffed. "Did you not hear me? You threw up. Not just on me, but everywhere! You were like Hurricane Vomit."

Draco strained to think what had taken place last night. Blaise forced him to get intoxicated to an uncomfortable level. That happened. He and Astoria went to a café together. That happened. He remembered pressing his ear against the wooden board to listen to a couple breaking up. Then Astoria had Apparated them… and… _ah that's right_. He recalled Astoria screaming when he regurgitated his entire liquor cabinet.

"Judging from the guilty look on your face, it looks like you remembered murdering my poor heels."

"I don't like Apparating, it always makes me sick," he tried to explain, "so I didn't get my licence."

Astoria still had her hands placed on her hips. She sneered at him and with a frightening sense of self-discovery; Draco realized this was how Artie felt when he yelled at him. "I'm sorry?"

"As long as you know I'm in the _right_ and you're in the _wrong._" Astoria's expression softened when she saw his ridiculous doe-eyed look and was about to say something when a gush of cold air rushed past them. They both turned when they heard the front door creak open.

"Quick! Apparate out of here!" she said, throwing him his wand.

"I told you, I can't Apparate!" He caught his wand in one deft movement before he dived under the tumble of bed-sheets.

"Astoria Beulah Greengrass! Come out here and explain to me right this instant!"

"Mother," Astoria called out as she made her way to the living room, her voice extra sweet and innocent. "What brings you here at six in the morning?"

Draco made a hole under the covers and peeped out to watch the scene unfold. Mrs. Greengrass came into sight. She had pinned her smooth but greying hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and as she waved her arms in the air, the clinking ropes of pearls swung on her wrist, like pendulum-turned-wrecking-balls. Her eyes shifted towards the bed and Draco looked away as though this would somehow conceal him better.

"Is there…" she said rather breathlessly and she drew close. "A man in your bed?"

Astoria laughed and slapped the mound of blankets hard. "No, mother. Just extra fluffy blankets, you know how I am with the cold."

Mrs. Greengrass narrowed her eyes and her gaze fell on Draco's loafers lined exactly a foot away from the bed. "_Really?_"

"Mother…" said Astoria, rising from the bed and walking towards her. The small details were the things that always tripped her up when she lied! "Could you come again in a few minutes? He's not exactly… um, decent."

Mrs. Greengrass' eyes widened and she fanned herself with one hand while the other clutched the edge of her blazer for moral support. "Who is he?"

"I'll introduce you later," said the younger witch, starting to push her mother towards the door.

"I WILL KNOW WHO HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH MY DAUGHTER!" screamed Mrs. Greengrass. Flecks of red appeared on her otherwise pale-white face. She pulled her wand from her leather handbag, Astoria tried to grab it but her mother had already cast a charm in the direction of the blankets.

With a _swoosh_, the blankets flew off the bed and revealed Draco in his huddled form; he'd been trying to remain compact to avoid suspicion.

"Is that Draco Malfoy?" shrieked Mrs. Greengrass. She held her hand up to her neck.

"Mother, your blood pressure."

Draco could think of nothing but to straighten himself into a sitting position. He tried to smile and fix his hair but realised showing his underarm hair to a middle-aged woman who had just found him in her daughter's bed did not give off the greatest impression. "Er, good morning," he said before Mrs. Greengrass collapsed into her daughter's arms.

* * *

"Stop smirking, Draco!" hissed Astoria. "My mother fainting is not funny."

"Who knew the shirtless sight of me could induce that kind of effect on middle-aged ladies?"

Astoria slapped Draco on the arm. "You're such a prick. I can't believe you don't know how to Apparate."

Draco shrugged, unashamed at the revelation. "Most wizards can't do it either. I can get two Ds down but I can't seem to visualize my destination."

"What, you have a short attention span? A memory of a goldfish?" she asked, frowning. "That's the easiest part."

"Maybe I hung out too much with Crabbe and Goyle when I was younger. My head starts to hurt when I try to Apparate."

Astoria laugh tinkled like bells. "You know what they say, stupidity is contagious."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Let's just hope your house-elf is done cleaning my clothes before your mother wakes up. Wouldn't want her fainting again, would we?"

Astoria picked up her wand on the coffee table and waved the blankets onto Draco's shoulders. "Just cover yourself."

"You are using _our _house-elf?"

Draco bit back a scream when Mrs. Greengrass, who they'd placed on the bed next to him, snapped open her eyes and locked his wrist into a vice-like grip with her fingers.

"That's what house-elves are for," said Astoria. Mrs. Greengrass glared at her and she shut her mouth.

"You two, on the floor!" commanded Mrs. Greengrass. Astoria scrambled to sit in front of her mother and Mrs. Greengrass sat like a queen looking down on her two subjects. Astoria sat cross-legged and pulled Draco down with her before he could protest. He could feel the cold floor through the thin material of his boxers.

"I cannot believe it. Malfoy—no, Pucey," said Mrs. Greengrass. She shook her head. "Whatever you're calling yourself these days—what is your relationship with my daughter?"

Draco looked right into her eyes and said smoothly. "A close one." One wouldn't have been able to tell he was lying unless they saw Astoria's fingers pinch his arm under the bed sheets.

"So you two... are serious?"

"I wouldn't say serious—" started Draco, smiling sweetly at Astoria but glaring telepathic daggers at her.

"We're more than that," said Astoria, reassuring her mother. "Draco's just shy."

"Well, I've never dated someone with such a unique middle name before."

"Right back at you," said Astoria scathingly. She gave him a sneer that would have made him proud—had she not directed it at him, and smiled at her mother.

"You don't fool me," said Mrs. Greengrass as she continued fanning herself. "I have to admit, Astoria must've taken a special liking to you… she doesn't let anyone near her bed." Mrs. Greengrass glared at him. "You will not ruin the reputation of my daughter." She stared down the young couple. "Since you two have decided to take things intimately, you will take all the appropriate steps to court my daughter starting now."

"I—"

Mrs. Greengrass held up her hand. "I never liked you, Draco Malfoy. Not even while you were in Cissy's womb. Always causing trouble and ruining the pure-blood image."

Well, that was hardly fair.

"…But this is the first time in four years since she's so much talked to a boy..."

Astoria stiffened. "Mother, that's enough."

Mrs. Greengrass shook her head with remorse. "Out of Hogwarts and not yet engaged. If your father was still alive…"

Astoria stood up and pulled her mother off her bed and pushed her towards the door. "I love you a lot, but please come back another time."

"But Astoria, I still—" Mrs. Greengrass said. She saw the pained expression in her daughter's face and decided to let her have her way. "Fine. I will be back later on in the evening."

"See you then," Astoria said, closing the door behind her mother.

Binkie appeared with a loud snap, making Draco jump.

"C-Clothes washed and pressed, Miss Astoria," she said, looking scared of Draco. "That's not… Binkie thought it would be Mr—"

"It's not!" said Astoria. She glared at Draco. "Shower and get changed. We need to talk."

Draco gulped. He had one of those 'feelings' squirming in the pit of his stomach again.

* * *

**(26 December; 0630)**

Draco took a sip of his orange juice and took a bite of his bacon, shrugging to himself. Not bad for a road-side café.

"The situation just then," said Astoria as she cut her pancake into perfect squares. "Requires explaining."

Draco waved his hand. He chewed on his bacon and swallowed before he spoke. "I totally get it. Your mother thought we were shagging."

"My mother thought we were in a relationship," corrected Astoria. "I am not a loose type of girl."

Draco washed down his next bite of breakfast with a gulp of his drink and shrugged. "I never thought you were."

"So I'm proposing…"

"Get in line. There's a whole fan club of girls waiting to do the same," joked Draco.

Astoria scowled, the expression marring her pretty face. "I'm being serious here."

"Fine," he said. "I'll consider what I know you're about to say in return for last night. You could've left me alone at the party or at the café, but you didn't. But let me tell you this in advance, I'm not interested in dating you."

Astoria drizzled more syrup and watched the golden liquid ooze all over her pancakes. "I know _that_. You're too busy being love-sick over someone."

Draco frowned. "I'm not in love with anyone."

"That's not what you told me last night."

"What?"

"You you were hugging me the whole night and moaned Hermione Granger's name in your sleep."

Draco's eyebrows shot up and he blushed furiously, embarrassed he was such an idiot even when he was asleep. "I don't recall doing that."

"That doesn't mean anything. You didn't recall spewing on my shoes," Astoria pointed out.

Draco exhaled heavily. Was she ever going to let it go?

"But just to set the record straight, I'm not interested in you either. I want an honest man with a head full of brown hair."

"Are you trying to be sarcastic?" said Draco, scowling. "Naming attributes that's the opposite of me?"

She cleared her throat and turned to face Draco before she continued. "I was thinking—"

"Oh, you think?"

Astoria slapped the back of his hand to stop him from interrupting. "We date, but as each other's number twos... or something like that. It'll keep my mother from thinking I've turned into some sort of wild child."

"Number two," he repeated. The numbering concept was medieval, but translated to modern-day casual dating. The system came from a time when life was more easily lost. One could die in a duel for dignity. Basically it meant you'd have a main suitor and maintain healthy relations with someone else, a number two, (so as to not burn bridges) in case your main suitor died.

"I'm not ready for a serious relationship, but"—she shrugged again and looked at him square in the eyes—"I thought it would be wise not burn this bridge just yet. What do you think?"

He took a look at Astoria who chose to wear a pastel-pink mohair sweater with black leather leggings to breakfast. She looked hot. Dating such a woman (with an all right personality, it seemed) in a semi non-committal was one way to live life. At least it was better than pining for someone he would never get and maybe he would even get over said girl (NOT THAT HE LOVED HER.) If he agreed, he would win the bet and claim Blaise's suit too. With that in mind, he nodded and said, "Just so you know, you'll be my number two as well. The worst thing that could ever happen with this sort of relationship is to be on uneven footing."

"Sounds fair. Just make sure it doesn't reach my mother's ears."

Draco nodded. "Of course, do you take me for a fool?"

Astoria shook his head. "Wouldn't have been sure. Look at the people you associate with. They're not the brightest cookies in the jar."

"Hermione Granger's the smartest witch of our generation."

"And you say you're not in love with her." She gave a grin and placed an arm across his shoulder.

"We _can_ write out what being a number two means," he said, brushing her comment aside. "But I don't fancy the idea of leaving evidence in a physical form."

She smirked. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

* * *

**(26 December; 0800)**

Hermione swore as she tried to put her stockings on. "I'm going to be late!"

She finally found her shoes: the left one on the top of their messy bookshelf, the right had to be in the wardrobe... Hermione screamed when she touched something full of bristles in the corner of the wardrobe.

"What's wrong?" said Ron, dashing out of the bathroom with a toothpaste moustache.

Hermione yanked the offending item out of the wardrobe, determined to figure out what it was. Her mouth fell open and she glared at Ron. "What's this?" she asked, as she looked at the handle.

Ron dove back into the bathroom. Hermione sighed and put on her other shoe. "I'm going to be late for work so we're going to continue this conversation after I come home."

Ron's head poked out from its hiding spot. "B-But I promised Harry I'd swing by to watch the match…"

She glared at Ron and he gulped, regretting he brought it up. "Resolving this is more important, I mean... _you're_ more important."

Hermione's gaze softened. "See you tonight. Remember to lock up the house." She kissed Ron goodbye but slammed the door behind her, annoyed that he had spent yet another part of their savings—on something pointless. And here she was, slaving away on Boxing Day instead of resting at home with a nice old book…

* * *

**Author note: **Thanks for those who have read and/or reviewed! I really appreciate the gesture, and it brightens up my day. :)


	7. Chapter Six: Of Flowers and Fights

**_Okay, so I screwed up and missed out two key chapters at the beginning of my story. For those who were following the story when I published it, you can find the new content in chapter 2 "Lip Lock" and chapter 3 "Three Storeys Down". Sorry about the mix-up and the spam of notifications if you story-alerted me!_**

* * *

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Six: Of Flowers and Fights

"Morning, Granger," Draco said as he held the lift door open for her. It appeared they had made the same choice and decided to spend Boxing Day catching up with the work they missed during their little Excursion to the Mar Company. She greeted him with a smile and unravelled her scarf from her neck as the elevator made its ascent. When they reached their office a brown owl hooted from its perch in greeting. A pink string secured an envelope on its leg and seeing this, Draco leaped at the bird, startling it.

"Is that from Director Mar?" asked Hermione, rushing up to him as the bird flew out of the window.

Draco stuffed the note into his pocket. "Um, this isn't from Director Mar."

"What are you hiding from me?"

"It's personal," he said, inching away. "I'd appreciate it if you don't pry and stick your nose into it."

"Fine," she said. "As long as it doesn't concern me, I don't need to know what is inside." She sat on her desk and began filling out her paperwork.

Draco took the note out of his pocket and began reading it, his lips forming silent words as was his habit when he read to himself. "Mother wants a formal meeting tonight. I think you know what you need to do before that." Draco sighed. He had forgotten all those pure-blood customs when it came to dating. He wondered if there was a way to worm out of this one…

"Pure-blood dating etiquette seems tedious! I'm so glad Ron's family doesn't stand for nonsense like that."

"Yeah, you're lucky. Do you know it means I'll have to buy flowers? _Me!_ I have to walk into a flower shop! Maybe I should send Artie."

"But isn't that missing the point? I thought this was an indiscreet way to publicly admit that you're courting someone you intend to spend your life with. You order flowers, say who they're for, then the florist tells someone in the upper circles and it spreads."

"You sure know a lot about this. What, thought Weasley would follow it?"

Heat rose up her face. "So what if I did? I find it rather romantic. It's more sophisticated than shouting from a rooftop."

"Which I bet the Weasel did," he replied, but didn't see her shake her head. "Well, I find it rather nauseating—" Draco stopped mid-sentence and glared at her. "How did you know what the message was about?"

She grinned. "You have this cute habit of mouthing what you read and I just so happen to read lips."

"Hmph."

"Yes, I know. I am awesome."

"You mean troublesome," he said, picking up his coffee mug to hide the smile forming on his lips.

* * *

**(A few hours later)**

"Okay, this is the battle plan. Go in and out as quickly as possible. It's going to be like ripping off a band-aid. You can do it. Go, go go!" Draco muttered to himself as he stood outside the flower shop.

He hated flowers. Miserable things they were. He was allergic to them too. Going into a flower shop was like sending his immune system to war.

"I think you're overreacting."

Draco spun around to see Hermione behind him and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Buying flowers? Why else would someone come here? Surely not to witness their colleague in a situation he's uncomfortable with."

"Ha, ha," he said, his expression sour like a pickled lemon. Then he brightened. "How about you go pick them up for me…"

"No can do!" said Hermione cheerfully. "You need to prove your love!" She dragged him in by the arm. "Now go!"

The bell rang as they entered and Draco stumbled over the threshold. He cursed as he regained his balance. A wave of sweet fragrance assaulted his senses. Draco eyed his surroundings; flowers lined the walls and grew in pots all over the floor, grouped in colours of red, orange, pink and yellow.

"How may I help you?" asked the lady by the counter. She was in her mid-forties and wore an orange apron. He looked down at her nametag. Jane.

"I want to make want to make a bouquet, one that will convey a message," he said.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Jane asked with a twinkle in her eye. When she saw Hermione at the back of the store beside the colourful bouquet of tulips she gasped. "Hermione Granger…? I thought she was with Ron Weasley…"

"Her? No." He shot Hermione a glare. "She's just… here. This is for Astoria. Astoria Greengrass."

"Oh! As a professional, would you mind telling me what the occasion is for? You see, the language of flowers is complex..."

"Just the standard one, thanks."

Jane squealed and hopped on one foot as though she'd just been asked out by the man of her dreams. "The standard? Oh, you two would do well together!"

"You know us?" he asked. Perhaps she was a relative? It wasn't hard to assume someone was related to you when you were a pure-blood.

"No, I'm just… well-informed," she said as she tied up the stems of the selected flowers with a silky purple ribbon.

"Excuse me?"

"I hope she likes them." Jane handed him the receipt.

"What?" he said in response to Hermione's slack-jaw gaze as he exited the store and into the busy street.

"B-But!"

"But what?" said Draco and grinned. There was only one other time he managed to make Hermione speechless…

She pointed at the bouquet with disbelief. "How did you know there a standard bouquet to choose?"

Draco shrugged. "I've been in there before. A couple of times, actually."

"Oh?" said Hermione, surprised by the idea. "Oh! Pansy—"

"Sh!" said Draco, clamping his hand over Hermione's mouth. He looked around the street in apprehension and fear.

"What was that about?" she asked when he finally relaxed his grip on her.

"She's like the Devil," he whispered as though he was afraid of someone hearing them. "Say her name and she'll appear out of nowhere."

"You're not cheating on her with Astoria are you? I thought you two broke up when you went to America. Well, I suppose it wouldn't make much sense if you're going to meet Astoria's mother…"

Draco shook his head. "I need to tell her myself."

"You think she still cares about you?"

"Not in that way, but she's going to throw a fit if she finds out I wasn't the first person she told. I should call her and arrange a time to meet up before she learns from someone else. Gotta run!"

Draco hailed a hansom cab and disappeared into it. Hermione kicked a loose pebble on the ground.

* * *

"So he's going to meet your mother? After two months?" Theo asked Astoria as she plaited her hair in her bedroom. "If I knew things could happen so fast, I would've requested an audience three days in."

"Shut up," said Astoria, admiring herself in the mirror. "I'm just going to pretend you're really not there."

"Good luck with that." He pulled the dark purple drapes from Astoria's childhood bedroom and saw a hansom carriage rolling up to the mansion. "Here's your fake lover-boy."

"And you're a _flake_," she snapped at him. "Can you just go away? I can't handle you. I'm trying to move on!"

Theo gave her a smile. "You know I'm only here because you wanted me to be."

"Key word there is _wanted_. It's past tense. I better not see you here again."

Theo climbed onto the bed. "Your delusions are at my command."

The door slammed behind Astoria as she made her way down to greet Draco. She put on a smile, because what girl wouldn't be happy seeing the love of her life? The house-elf had already helped him out of his coat and put his bouquet of flowers into a vase. Seeing her face light up to the sight of him, Draco smiled more out of reflex than courtesy. Two people involved in a ploy to trick others for one's gain always gave birth to a sense of comradery.

"Pre-made?" she asked as she leaned in for a hug, and made a face as he wrapped his arms around her body.

"I guess one can only get the standard bouquet so many times before she realizes," Draco replied snarkily when he saw her shift in demeanour.

"Just don't mess up." She turned her head and her voice and expression morphed into that of a sweet angel. "Mother?"

"The sitting room," Mrs. Greengrass said before disappearing into a room upstairs.

Astoria led Draco up the flight of stairs and he smirked at the name plaque hanging in front of her door. "I made that when I was six," she said, feeling the need to explain. "I have a problem with letting things go." She thought about who was in her room and sighed. _Not healthy, Astoria,_ she chided herself.

Mrs. Greengrass took a delicate sip from her fine china. _Cissy's boy with my darling Astoria! _"What do you do?" she asked as a conversation starter. She already knew in reality, having done extensive background checks on Draco. Mrs. Greengrass knew things about him and she suspected something sinister under that winsome mask of his.

"I work under Maurice Pucey in his consulting firm," said Draco. He sat up straight on the chair and tried his best to appear polite and respectful.

"I don't want to waste my time. May I be direct?"

"Sure," said Draco, eager to be away from this situation as quickly as possible.

"How much do you earn per year?"

The question took Draco by surprise. He frowned, trying to figure out what his salary was. "Excuse me?"

"If you're serious about pursuing my daughter, I want to know whether you'd be able to provide for her. I know you're under patronage of Pucey and your fortune has—"

"About four thousand galleons."

Astoria's eyes shot open. She'd thought Draco would make more money than that!

"I've only worked in the company for two years, so my salary is a bit…"

"Underwhelming," Mrs. Greengrass supplied for him. "But I heard from Mrs. Pucey you may become head of the company after Maurice retires?"

"Maybe," said Draco, shrugging. "But not anytime soon."

Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "We'll see if we can speed that up."

Draco kept his face neutral. "Planning to kill him off?"

Mrs. Greengrass screeched in laughter. Draco fought the urge to cover his ears. "Like you did with your father?"

"Mother!"

"Did I say something untrue?" She turned to face Draco with a sly smile on her face.

Draco froze and uttered the phrase that he used so often, it had become a cliché to him: "I'm innocent."

"I see," she said, not convinced in the slightest. "As long as you can provide for Astoria… she's a silly girl who needs a man to protect her and keep her in line."

"Draco loves me, I'm sure he'll provide and do the best for me," interrupted Astoria firmly, shooting a glance at Draco. "Tell Mother how much you love me."

Draco opened his mouth, pausing for just a moment. Any further hesitation would be suspicious. "For our generation… that is, the generation which faced the War in our teens, two months is quite a long time," he said, words spilling from his mouth as quickly as he could say them. "Times have changed. We are in the modern age. Muggle technology is mixed with Wizardry. As a result, our sense of time has changed. Two minutes for us, is too long to wait for a meal," he finished, thinking of instant noodles in the lunchroom sink.

"Go on."

"One thing we learnt from science is that time is relative," said Draco and he held his hand to his heart and made his voice wobble. In the past it let him get away with almost everything. "We can't define love in the hours, minutes and seconds with that person. We define it by the quality of time we spent together." He knew nothing about relativity and was certain he'd gotten it wrong but doubted either of the Greengrass ladies could catch him out on that.

"That's beautiful, Draco."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise for he hadn't expected his words to touch Astoria. Wait… he couldn't tell if his words actually moved her or if she was only pretending. He started down at his shoes and took a sip of his tea as though he were embarrassed by his outburst which he had no power to control because of the hot, raging passion he felt for the younger Greengrass in the room.

"I do believe your words are as sincere as they can be," Mrs. Greengrass said, "but you have only been together for two months. Draco, I'm interested to know how much you love my daughter and what you're willing to do to prove it."

Draco's head shot up and he smirked at Astoria, giving her a wink when he was certain her mother wasn't looking.

"It still stands whether your actions are sincere. I will be keeping an ear out for your efforts. Thank you for visiting us today, Draco. Binkie will see you out," she said, snapping her fingers.

Their house-elf, donned in curtain scraps appeared and bowed. "Please come this way, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco rose from his seat and bowed to Mrs. Greengrass. "Thank you for inviting me." He turned to face Astoria and gave her a toothy grin. "I'll owl you."

"Bye," said Astoria, waving her hand and mirroring his expression.

When Draco left the room with Binkie, Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow and gave her daughter a look that could have melted glass. "Do you still see Theodore Nott?"

Astoria bit into a cookie. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Greengrass gave a frosty laugh. "I've known Draco since he was born; his little speech was touching but he takes after Lucius. That parting smile of his, there _has_ to be more than meets the eye."

"You're suspicious because he smiled? Maybe he's just happy. Sometimes people smile when they're happy."

"He was smirking, like he's above me."

"Oh, that expression? I think it's genetically wired in. Don't mind it." She shrugged and picked at her sheer white tights.

"I know for a fact, you still see Theodore," Mrs. Greengrass. "You didn't think I could hear you speak to him through your bedroom door?"

"Mother, I—"

"And now you're telling me that you love Cissy's son? He's your one and only? Don't make me laugh."

"He is my number one."

"Do you remember how Daphne used to cry when Draco said snide things to her? Don't you remember the tears you wiped away and all the glamour charms you cast to hide her puffy eyes? Are you telling me that's the kind of man you want to marry?"

"You think you know me so well." Astoria leaned forward and said quietly. "But I'm _crazy_, remember?"

Mrs. Greengrass turned red. "You… you want to date someone acted that way to your sister?"

"Don't ever use Daphne's memory like that. It's low, even for you." Astoria's expression stiffened and she glared at her mother. "If you're worried about your precious family prestige, don't worry. Draco fits your bill perfectly. He's well-liked by the decent people, rich, can trace his ancestors back to the Founder's Era and will look incredible in wedding photos. We'll have cute children you can brag about."

Mrs. Greengrass stood up from her seat, aghast at Astoria's accusation. She hurled her saucer at the table and it sent the cake tray flying. The metal pan crashed onto the floor and cake skidded across the carpet. Astoria cringed at the sorry sight. "Everything's gone wrong—oh… oh…"

"Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life…" she started. "Well, _you_ ought to know the rest. Except you wouldn't because you're strictly still anti-anything that doesn't conform to the old ways." She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

"Astoria. Astoria!" Her mother grabbed her by the arm.

She spun on her heel and glared at her mother. "What?"

"I'm going to let you date him," she said, gripping her daughter so tightly the diamonds on her fingers dug into Astoria's skin. "If he does prove his sincere intentions, then…"

* * *

"Prove what?" Ron scowled as he paced back and forth across the room. Hermione sat on the bed cross-legged. She knew she was charging straight into an argument but it was not in her nature to avoid issues because of this.

"You wouldn't mind if I called Harry right now and asked him about it?"

"Harry's busy!" said Ron, throwing his hands into the air. "I don't think he would appreciate you asking whether he remembers the price of that broomstick. I doubt he would even remember something like that."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. A rush of red dyed Ron's ears. "Ginny then. She would."

"She would, but she's probably busy with her job… and being pregnant," mumbled Ron. Then he frowned, having just thought of something. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"As your girlfriend, I should trust you enough to take what you say as the truth." Ron brightened and approached her with his arms wide open, ready to give her a bone-crushing hug. She held up her hand, for she hadn't finished yet. "But your whole body posture's screaming you're hiding something. You've never been good at lying."

"You promised you'd never read me!" he spluttered, his facing turning red. "All the stuff that you learnt at that fancy-shamy institute of yours, you promised you'd never use it against me!"

Hermione stood up from the bed, indignant. "I'm not using it _against_ you, Ron. I couldn't help it. I'm saying this for your own good, for _us_." She swung her arms across her body, gesturing to their humble abode. "I thought we were saving up for our dream home."

"We are."

"I don't want to be stuck here. I want to own a house—not an apartment, but an actual house… I want…"

"We don't have money because you insisted on studying abroad."

"Are you trying to say going to university was a waste of money?"

"It wasn't a waste," Ron said, back-pedalling before her temper blew up in his face. "But you've got to face the facts. You used up a lot of our money so I don't think you have the right to yell at me when I use some for myself."

"I was on full scholarship."

"For the school fees, but everything else—the accommodation, the commuting costs… it adds up. If you had taken the job the Ministry offered you right after the war…"

Hermione shook her head. "How could they expect an eighteen-year old to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I'unno. You're smart, Hermione, I know you could have handled it. And if you had taken up the offer, we'd be rolling in Galleons right now instead of having to save up on food stickers."

They glared at each other, fuming. She closed her eyes, wishing she was someplace else. She hated fighting with Ron, she loved him, but when they fought it was awful. Both of them were stubborn; they loved proving themselves right but hated being proven wrong.

Ron shifted uneasily under Hermione's gaze, for he knew they were treading in dangerous territory full of landmines. "Is this really about the broom?" Ron asked in a quiet voice. He exhaled and pressed his shins against the bed. "Are you that unhappy with our situation?"

Her expression softened. She dropped her arms down onto her lap and sighed. She didn't know what she was feeling. "I feel like things aren't going so well in life right now. Especially at work, so I'm being extra touchy on things," she confessed.

"Finally gone crazy working with Malfoy?" he asked, lacing his fingers with hers. She chuckled lightly and shook her head. Ron sat down on the bed and kissed her forehead. "Sorry, I wasn't being fair on you. I know we're not doing so hot right now, but that's going to change. George has finally gotten better and I think he can run the shop on his own. So I'm... I'm going to apply for the Auror trainee program and take the test again. Third time lucky, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "You said you didn't want to fight evil and liked how you could make people laugh instead."

He planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "As fulfilling as that is, it's not providing enough. And you're not satisfied with things they are now. Like you said, you want a place for our own. You're right. We can't live here forever," said Ron, then he brightened. "But at least we're close to The Burrow. And if all fails, if we have too many kids or something, we can always tell Mom and Dad to swap houses..."

"Ron," she yelped, genuinely appalled at the vision he painted for her. He saw the fear clouding in her eyes so for her sake, drew a smile on his face and punched her on the shoulder to show he was joking around.

"Kidding, kidding," he lied.

She knew what he was doing for her and she pulled on a smile with some effort. "You take care of me so well."

As if in a charade, he gave her a lop-sided grin, "I aim to please!"

That night Ron cried beside Hermione but she did not notice, for a lifetime spent in a household full of teasing brothers perfected his skills in silent weeping. When he was done, he turned to his side to observe the perfect and beautiful woman sleeping beside him. _Love isn't about fluttering hearts or romantic kisses, _Ron thought. _It's about compromises and sacrifices. _Theirs was a deliberate whittling of afflictions which one day would flourish into a fruitful bond. The violent turnings within his chest had to be love. He wouldn't accept anything it to be anything else. It just wouldn't make sense. Only love could hurt him like this.

Right?


	8. Chapter Seven: Pansy Knows Best

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Seven: Pansy Knows Best

"So, how did you like the flowers?" asked Draco as Astoria as she dug around her leather purse, her fingers coming in contact with an assortment of objects as she sifted through its compartments. She gave a huff of relief when she found a cluster of keys and fished them out of her bag. The tumblers in the lock gave a tired groan as she turned the key to the metal door of the art gallery.

She shrugged – it would be utterly unbecoming to be ecstatic over a big bouquet of flowers –"I think red roses are too cliché, but good effort."

"Well that's _wonderful_," he said, tucking his arm into hers. "Because now you owe _me _a favour. There are a few people you are obliged to meet."

"What? Right now?"

Draco untucked his arm from Astoria, and pulled his sleeve to reveal his watch. "Tonight, definitely. Where's the carriage stand?"

"You didn't think I'd have plans?"

Having never seen Astoria around _anywhere_ for the last few years, Draco would never admit he thought exactly that. However, he wouldn't prick holes in her pride, not when he needed her cooperation today. "That's why I didn't bother asking. Your plans can wait. I need you tonight."

"What for?" she asked, leading the way in the main street.

"Meeting Blaise and Pansy. They want to and I quote Queen Bitch, 'see you for myself'."

Astoria sighed, if she knew she was going to go somewhere with Draco after work, she'd have worn something fancier. She stared down at her ugg-booted feet. "I don't even have nice shoes on! The two of them are basically your parents; do you expect me to meet them wearing ugg-boots?"

"Well, if it's bothering you that much we'll stop by your apartment and you can change to your heart's desire. I'm never one to get in the way of someone trying to look their personal best."

Astoria's face lit up. "It'll only take five minutes," she promised.

* * *

When Astoria disappeared into her bedroom and did not come out after twenty minutes, Draco sighed and picked up a magazine sitting on her coffee table. He had fiddled with the cube Hermione had given him and he had just managed to solve the puzzle. Now the complete cube was safely in his pocket; he'd show Hermione when he saw her next. Tethering on the edge of boredom, he flicked through the latest edition of Witch Weekly with about as much enthusiasm as he had flicking through a textbook as a student. Printed on the front cover with bold yellow lettering was: _Potters' Good News_. He scowled at the picture of Harry and Ginny waving and smiling at the camera as though they ruled the world. "So the Weaselette is pregnant," he said to himself as he turned the page. His eyes caught sight of another moving picture and he stared at a smaller photograph on the bottom-right corner of the page.

In the picture, Hermione and Ron were on the couch on opposite sides to Ginny. The three of them appeared to be laughing at a joke Harry said, and when Hermione threw her head back he could see the crinkle in the corner of her eyes. It was only when the animation ended did Draco notice Ron's hands were interlinked with hers the whole time. He snapped the magazine shut.

"I'm ready." Astoria appeared out of her bedroom. She caught Draco's expression and frowned, trying to work out the reason. "Not good?"

It took Draco half a second to abandon the couch, and fix his expression on his face. Such a knee-jerk reaction to something like that in a magazine would send him nowhere. So instead, he shifted his face into an amused smirk and almost non-existent eyebrows high. "Darling, you can wear a sack and we would have a hard time beating off the men in the bar." He offered his hand and beckoned to the fireplace. Astoria, smiling uncontrollably from the utter absurdity of Draco's compliment climbed into the fireplace with him. She held onto his arm tightly though there was little need to.

* * *

At the bar, Draco filled his glass to the brim and one half-full for Astoria. She rolled her eyes and took the full cup. "I wasn't assuming anything, I err on the side of caution. I don't want any mention of number ones and twos after a drink or two."

"I promise I'll only use those words as a euphemism for your bowel movements," Astoria said, tilting her glass to Draco when a gush of cold air raced into the room, and with it a voluptuous woman in a white-feathered gown appeared. The door slammed shut as all eyes in the bar turned to the entrance. Pansy smiled and gave several nods of greeting, relishing the attention. "Wow," Astoria whispered, "she looks like a bitch."

Draco gave Astoria a wry grin and tried his best not to see the vest Pansy wore across her dress as slaughtered prey she was lugging home. "We don't call her Queen Bitch for nothing."

Having paraded once around the room, ensuring everyone was having the best time the town could offer, Pansy approached the pair with the ferocity of a tyrannosaurus rex. Astoria leant back unconsciously—she had always made an effort to keep her distance away from Pansy Parkinson, her sister's tormentor and general loud-mouth—and mumbled from the corner of her mouth, "I thought you were just being nasty as usual."

"What are you two gossiping about?" she said, tossing her red vest down onto the couch and sinking herself into the sofa. She turned to face the pair and placed a manicured hand over her collarbone. "Me perhaps?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not always about you."

Pansy snorted and she tapped Draco on the shoulder with sharp raps. "You, go bring me a drink. I'm not here to put up with your horrid personality tonight." She shifted in her seat and leaned closer to Astoria. "I'm here to get to know your darling little girlfriend here."

Astoria opened her mouth but Pansy put up a hand to stop her from speaking. She had a personal philosophy that mouths were deceitful and physical appearances were misleading. She scrutinised Astoria as though trying to figure out what Draco liked about her. Though Astoria knew her fashion and seemed nice enough (in Pansy's twisted standards), she couldn't see how her friend had fallen for her. Pansy appraised Astoria for a moment, trying to discern where her vulnerabilities laid and ignored the roll of her eyes in favour of blinking a couple of times to moisten her eyes. It was repayment, to repay even after all these years of Draco protecting her from the horrors of the war; now it was her time to cover his back and make what game she was playing. "Astoria," she said shakily. "What if I told you I still loved Draco?"

Astoria snorted. "You don't fool me. But I'd tell you to stay away."

Pansy downed Draco's glass of fire-whiskey and traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger. "Interesting."

"What?"

Pansy studied her for a longer moment and smirked. "_Interesting._"

Astoria's face grew hot. She tried calming her nerves with another sip of alcohol. "What do you mean?"

"A certain ugly duckling has occupied my little boy for the last three years. I find it hard to believe he fell in love with you so quickly."

"You think Draco's playing me?"

"No, but I just can't stand the two of you acting as though you're serious when…" Quick as a viper, Pansy lunged and yanked the chain of Astoria's purse off her lap. Pansy stood up and the purse swung two and fro between the girls, with the mouth of a bottle of firewhiskey tilted precariously above it. "I don't understand your situation _too_ well."

"What?" said Astoria, her eyes glued to her purse. "You're going to be pay if you pour that. I'll rip out your eyelash extensions."

"What's going on?" Draco appeared in front of them, holding a colourful cocktail for Pansy.

"Just getting to know her," said Pansy silkily. "You _two_ have gotten chummy _too _soon." She shot Draco a look which meant she wanted answers—whether he knew, and was he okay with it? And what was he _planning_?—a look and Draco sighed. Only Pansy could catch onto such subtle nuances so quickly.

"Well, I'm fine with it as long as Blaise gives me his suit and stops introducing random women to me," confessed Draco. He pushed the base until of the bottle of firewhiskey was upright again before placing both hands over Pansy's fingers. He pried her fingers off one by one, thumb first, until he was the only one holding the neck of the bottle and poured the remaining alcohol into a glass for Pansy. Offering her the drink, Draco sat down next to Pansy and turned towards her. "You're not telling him."

Pansy batted her long eyelash (extensions) at him. "If you buy me a new handbag."

"I'll make it _two_," Draco promised her.

"Why are you so concerned about tricking Blaise anyway?" Astoria asked Draco. "And what's this about a suit?"

"It's nothing much, don't worry about it," he said, knowing his bet wouldn't impress her. "Blaise _thinks _I'm pining. If I don't fool him, he's going to make me do something stupid and I'll embarrass myself. I'll be cast into exile, into the mountains and never see the lights of civilisation again."

Pansy cackled and tapped a finger on his cheek. "He's always been a dramatic little thing."

"So yeah, don't tell Blaise—"

"Tell Blaise what?" Like the devil, Blaise appeared in front of them with a loud snap. He grinned and shrugged off his leather jacket, flinging it onto an empty chair. Pansy squealed and jumped up, giving the man a kiss on both cheeks before shoving Draco away and wedging Blaise between him and her.

"Draco's was just asking me to tell you not to _touch_ Astoria," said Pansy, waggling her eyebrows at him. "He's quite protective of this one."

Blaise smiled at Astoria who shot him a polite smile. He gave her a wink and leaned back into the sofa, resting his head on Pansy's shoulders. "That's cool. I think. So things between you guys are serious?"

"Good enough to introduce you two," said Draco.

"Do you owe me or what?" Pansy mouthed to Astoria.

"What?" she asked, pretending she couldn't read lips.

Pansy smirked and gave Blaise a quick peck. Blaise waggled his eyebrows at her and she cackled. Pansy gave Astoria a knowing smile, before she leaned over Draco's back so that she could whisper into her ear. Her voice was so soft, Astoria just made out her words, though Pansy's lips were so close her lipstick most definitely caught a few wisps of her straw-blonde strands floating around her face. "Don't hurt him."


	9. Chapter Eight: I Loved You Once

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Eight: I Loved You Once

Ignatius Prewett tugged at his Hawaiian-shirt—he didn't have time to change because he had grabbed the emergency Port-key and got here immediately when he heard the startling rumour from Maurice Pucey, his long-time business partner. Seated in his office, the sombre darkness made a stark difference to his bright attire, like a candle flame to the dark of night. In front of his desk stood a young man, sweating so profusely the rim of his shirt collar had soaked through with sweat despite the cold season. Artie took to staring at the window behind Prewett, and took quiet, slow and even breaths, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. Even if he had met Ignatius in more favourable circumstances, there was no doubt he would be more than flustered. Harry Potter may have had defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, but it was Ignatius Prewett and Maurice Pucey who had picked up the pieces and rebuilt society as they knew it now.

Artie took a quick glance at Ignatius and found himself meeting his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" asked Ignatius softly. He never felt the need to raise his voice, his whole person commanded respect. People did what he asked of them.

Artie's eyes watered and he choked as quietly as possible, trying not to draw attention to himself. The intern's display made Ignatius raise an eyebrow, though incidents and people seldom surprised him. Maurice gave a light chuckle to break the tension.

"You work for Draco and Hermione," said Maurice. "And they answer to us. Don't be afraid, we'll make sure they won't punish you for doing this."

The younger man shook his head. "I don't know anything." And he didn't, Hermione and Draco left him out of their Secret Plan the way school children excluded their classmates from playground games. Artie wasn't even sure the two bosses knew anything was amiss – they might just be testing him – so he was going to keep his mouth zipped shut until Hermione and Draco came back from wherever they were.

"Could you please call them in here for me?" Ignatius asked Artie. Tight-lipped, Artie pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial a number…

* * *

One of the many things which the Muggle Revolution had brought into the Wizarding world was the ease of communication; not only was it faster than sending an owl, there were some things better expressed in conversation. However, it appeared the message which flitted across Draco Malfoy's cellphone late into the night, would have appeared ominous, no matter in what mode it was delivered. A message from one's employer after business hours, demanding his presence – especially when he was supposed to be on vacation – meant only bad news. He left with Pansy and Astoria still staring daggers at each other at the bar and rushed off to the company.

Draco met Hermione at the elevator, and as the doors swung shut they made their journey up to their employers' office with their glum expressions reflected on the steel panes of the door. He placed his hands in his jacket pockets as they rode in silence and found the puzzle Hermione had gifted him in there. He had planned to show off the completed puzzle to Hermione the next time he saw her, but this was hardly the relaxed situation he envisaged their next reunion to be. They were halfway up the company tower now, and Hermione remained muted and had closed her eyes, as though she could disappear from the place if she could make her presence less noticeable. After a longer string of silence, Draco couldn't contain himself anymore. "Did you tell anyone?"

"Of course not! Granted, after our slapdash exeunt, they might have heard something from someone... rumours... I don't believe they could have found solid evidence tying us to anything. Right?"

"We're the only two that know the full story. I think they'll have their suspicions. I don't know. We'll find out when we get there, I suppose. Who knows, we might be freaking about nothing," he lied, "Maybe they're calling us up for a reason entirely different."

She nodded. All their efforts would amount to nothing if their bosses could prove what they had done. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped into the corridor. Ahead, the doors to the client room was wide open, and the two heads of the respective companies watched as the incoming pair approached them. Hermione gave Draco a perfect expression of panic when she was close enough to see their expressions. Draco involuntarily swallowed.

Ignatius sighed when he saw Hermione. He had thought to train her up for a few years and leave the company to her when he retired. But right now, it looked like she'd have to be packing up her office soon. "We'll be questioning the two of you."

She gulped, knowing Ignatius would be interrogating her. Draco adopted a poker face, as he often did in times of adversary. His heart was pounding in his chest and it made matters worse to know Hermione and himself would be questioned separately. Together, they were sure to be able to overcome any obstacle, but alone… alone... and it was too soon—the heads of the company got up and like ducklings following their mother, Draco and Hermione trailed behind their bosses into their separate offices.

Maurice took a seat behind his desk and made no offer for Draco to sit after he had closed the door behind him with a swish of his wand. "Draco, is there anything you'd like to tell me?" he asked as Draco kept his eyes trained at the pot plant in front of him. His gaze could cut through glass. "Draco."

The blond continued to stare at the foliage. The only sign of tension within his body was the slight heightening of his shoulders. He refused to look at his boss, knowing the mere glance at his superior would make him cave. "I know how you are with secrets. But I can't tell you..."

Maurice sighed. "We have no solid evidence to hold anything against you but I want you to come clean."

Draco bit his lip, trying not to yield to the temptation.

"If you come clean, I'll be generous," Maurice began, "You see, we knew making the two of the brightest in our company tell the truth would be… difficult… so we had to instigate a situation of sorts."

"Ignatius Prewett is asking Granger the same thing, isn't she?" croaked Draco.

"Yes," said Maurice. "If Hermione tells the truth which involves you in any way and you keep silent, we'll assume you're the one responsible for everything, because the only evidence available of a person involved if you. I'll fire you and she gets to keep her job. It applies the other way round."

"If we say both of us were in it, then you'll demote both of us," Draco guessed. "There's no way you'd fire us both." The smile on Maurice's face confirmed his idea. Draco was silent as he considered his options. His head was spinning. "And if we both remain silent..."

"There would be no evidence, so nothing," Maurice said. "Do you think Hermione would trust you not to betray her? Her job is on the line."

"So is mine," he replied, feeling sick to the stomach. He hated it when Maurice played the devil's advocate; Hermione would _never_ betray him… she was good like that. That was just the kind of person she was. She is such a smart person, and she could catch out a million faults to use against you in a second. Only she was good, so she used her skills to help people instead of putting them down: she was that kind of person…

"I'm sure you trust her to do what's right, but what are you going to do? If you get demoted or fired, you won't be able to gain access to _those _files," Maurice said.

And Draco did believe Hermione would do what was right, or what she thought was right, at least?". Only he wasn't exactly sure what Hermione would think was _right_. She always had a sense of justice about her, and what was right with her would be…? To tell the truth, consequences be damned? Or be a martyr? No that was left to Harry Potter. After all, the truth was that _she_ was the one who started everything.

"So answer this one question for me, with a yes or no. Did Hermione do something wrong?"

"It..." Draco began to say, and at the same time, Ignatius began to speak in another room.

"Take a seat both of you."

"First, don't take it too hard on Artie. He tried his best to lie. Lucky for his future wife, he's not good at it," Ignatius said and began to explain why he had brought her here to question her, away from the Malfoy and Pucey parties.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, her mouth hanging open.

Ignatius looked at his watch and said, "I'm giving you thirty seconds to decide what you want to say."

She looked down at her shoes and deliberated. The question boiled down to whether Draco would place his interests above her own. Both their jobs meant a lot to them—it took up so much of their time and energy, it pretty much defined them. She shuddered to think what would happen if she kept silent and he ended up blathering. She'd be fired! The thought made Hermione's blood run ice-cold. If she kept silent while Draco blamed her, she'd have to shoulder all the blame. If she left the company under those circumstances, no one would be willing to hire her. There'd be no way Ron and she could afford a home then. She'd be left with nothing. Hermione wasn't the type to sabotage or deliberately rid people of their jobs, but in the end Draco had chosen to follow hadn't he? Every person was responsible for his or her own actions and consequences which flowed from them. And if it was about spreading losses… Draco was rich. Sure, he had lost his family fortune by blasting himself off the family tree—which meant he was no longer recognised, in a magical sense, as a Malfoy—but he was still _very _well off. He didn't _need_ a job. In an ideal world, Draco and Hermione would trust each other enough and both of them would get out of this mess. But in reality, speaking up, (and it was the truth so it wasn't about betraying anyone) meant guaranteeing an end to living in a small apartment, from living on such a tight budget for Hermione. And she was sure he would speak up anyway, he was too self-interested to be a martyr. Ha! If the situation wasn't so grim, Hermione would have found the idea hilarious.

And if Draco did decide to keep quiet? He'd get fired, sure. But at least he had a large bank balance to continue to provide sustenance and shelter over his head. _If I cover for him and he betrays me, I'm left with nothing,_ she thought. _It's just about spreading the losses. _Having decided that there was no debate in what she would say.

"Did Draco Malfoy do something wrong?" Ignatius asked.

* * *

After Draco told Maurice's his answer, he nodded and stood from his seat. "We will talk in front of the Prewett company."

Maurice pushed the door open and Draco felt sick at heart. Hermione and Ignatius sat on couches in the middle of the room. Artie had been sent away. Maurice and Draco took a seat adjacent to them. The two older men shook their heads at each other. They had both told on each other. That much was clear.

"You have disappointed us."

After the relief of knowing she was not fired, Hermione shot a glance at Draco and her expression mirrored his, it was the look of intense irritation, the kind of look you'd give to someone who had just pushed you under a heavy, moving vehicle.

"Maurice, I'm glad you convinced me I'm a decade too young to retire. Both of you have failed miserably."

"As you had undoubtedly caught on, the two of you have been working together for almost half a year, we wanted to see the extent of the trust you've fostered. When I set you to partner with Draco Malfoy you were more than reluctant to do so, despite spending three years in Salem together."

"You didn't want to work with me?" asked Draco even more hurt with this revelation. It felt like he had lost just lost in a quidditch game, and to add to the insult a stray bludger had knocked him off his broom _after_ the opposition seeker caught the snitch.

Hermione looked down, uncomfortable that Ignatius chose to bring that up. Now she wished she hadn't spoken up, but at the start, the thought of working with Draco was… "I didn't want things to get complicated between us."

"Ahem," said Ignatius. "When Prewett and Pucey merges, the two of you will be partners managing the largest consultant and hired-help company in the whole of Great Britain. I am disappointed the two of you chose to betray each other."

"We don't have evidence to bring you to the Ministry, but with your confession as 'proof', we sure can discipline you on our own. We've received complaints from Director Mar and she has decided to never work with us again. What were you two thinking?"

"It was her fault," Hermione said in a rush. "She was the one who tweaked the contract."

"And so you decided to break the law instead of proving fraud in the conventional means, why?" Maurice's voice was no less as furious as his partner. "The whole point of merging the Pucey and Prewett firm was to gain Ministry-approval. This sort of insolent activity would shake the integrity of our companies." He glared at the blond man. "Stealing someone's identity and trespassing into our client's company? You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione and at the same time, Draco muttered a rare apology.

"Both of you are going to be disciplined for doing something so reckless. What makes it even worse was that the two of you knew the risks and chose to run with it anyway," said Ignatius, shaking his head. "Hermione, why didn't you tell me about the contract from the start?"

"B-Because…" she spluttered. "I thought I could handle this. I didn't want to disappoint you, I wanted to fix it."

"You are afraid of failing," Ignatius told her.

"The two of you have to take responsibility of your reckless actions." He took out two collapsed-cardboard boxes and handed one to the two of them. "You two are hereby demoted and until you can prove yourselves. The two of you will be dealing with first-year level cases.

"I didn't work so hard in the company to be moving furniture," protested Draco.

"And my salary?" said Hermione in a shaky voice.

"Oh, of course you'd care about that," said Draco priggishly. And it became clear to him _exactly _why Hermione chose to tell on him; not for the interests of justice or anything, but because she wanted her pay to keep coming in. Hermione shot him a glare and looked back at her boss for the answer.

"Entrance level."

Hermione closed her eyes as she felt the world crashing around her.

"You are now dismissed," said Maurice, looking tired and as though he'd aged a decade from this conversation.

* * *

Draco gripped the cardboard box and headed for the elevator. She didn't feel like speaking to Draco right now and had deliberately walked slower, but there he was stony-faced, keeping the door open for her.

_Unbelievable, _Draco thought to himself. _The reason why she told Ignatius was because of her stupid dream for a house? _And here he had thought it was about integrity. He yanked the cube out of his pocket and threw it at Hermione as the elevator shut. Caught by surprise, it bounced off her and it fell apart, the multi-coloured pieces scattered across the elevator floor.

"Hey!"

"Take it back. Gifts aren't so nice when the givers aren't nice themselves."

"What?" she asked, chagrin flushed through her features. Draco had no right to take this out on her, he had told on her too! Trying to be the bigger person—of course Draco would be the kind of person to throw temper tantrums when things didn't go his way—she ignored the comment and the bright coloured pieces on the ground. The two stood in a chilled silence and the faint drone of the elevator only increased the tension. Unable to bear it any longer, Draco pulled out his wand and with a violent swing, the elevator lurched to a sudden stop and having lost her footing, Hermione crashed into the side of the elevator. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up," he said, pacing from one corner to another. He continued back and forth in the small elevator an agitated manner. "Just shut up."

She stared at the man, afraid of how he was behaving. Maybe he had cracked under the news of his demotion, or had fallen too hard out of the building. Or was drunk. "Are you all right?" she asked him, staring at him.

Clearly he was not, for Draco's fist crashed against the wall, any harder and there would be dents in the metal case. Even so, the elevator shook and rattled. His normally pallid complexion had turned bleached paper white, as though a Dementor had sucked spent the last few minutes sucking his soul out, and Hermione could see his struggle to keep composure. Draco grinded his molars, and forced himself to take deep breaths, exhaling loudly through his nose. He dared not open his mouth until he was suitably composed. The effort to remain calm, to Hermione only increased her dread.

"People said you were beautiful," he finally said, his voice had taken an awkward stilted quality in hopes of feigning calmness. "Because people often say true beauty is reflected in actions and the amount of care given."

"M-Malfoy, what are you talking about?" He had definitely cracked, and although she could see he was trying to control herself, her instincts were screaming, telling her to leave. She tightened the grasp on the cardboard box in front of her and pulled out her wand and chanted a spell to get the elevator to start moving again. The machine whirled to life and with a rattle, they began to descend again.

"On the surface, you're beautiful—but today you showed me something else. Tonight I realised, you're rotten to the core. Just like me… just like the rest of us. I've seen you for what you really are now. I never loved you."

What. The. Flipping. Fuck. "Malfoy," said Hermione, her eyes wide. This whole situation seemed surreal. His palpable rage was scaring her, but she didn't think he'd ever hurt her, not even when he drew out his wand. What she was afraid of were the words coming out of his mouth. "What's going on?"

"You are manipulated me!"

"I did no such thing!" Hermione said. "When did I do that?"

Heat burned in his chest and he whacked the handrail in the elevator. "You used me."

No matter how shocked he was over the demotion, it did not give him a right to take out his rage on her. "I beg your pardon?"

"You used me," he said again. "You treated me like toilet paper. I wiped away all your shit and then you threw me away."

"You're being impossible. I can't believe you're saying this to me."

"You dragged me into this," said Draco, his voice full of ice. "I wanted to tell them, but _no_, you wanted to do it yourself."

Her eyes widened to the size of a crystal ball. "Well hindsight is 20/20. But are you trying to suggest this is all my fault? That you were completely innocent? That you had nothing to do with this? You were the one who created the plan."

"You used me," he repeated in a hiss.

They really had to clear that up. "I didn't use you; I asked you to help me," Hermione said in a rather short tone, as though she had been explaining something to an insolent five-year old for the hundredth time.

"I didn't have a choice," he said. He stepped away from her and looked as though he might be sick.

"Um no, you did have a choice. I was there too," she said, "I asked you to help and you said yes."

"You compelled me to help you!"

Hermione snorted. "What, did I hit you with an Imperius curse when you weren't looking?" When the words slipped out of her mouth, she felt a twinge of guilt. She shouldn't have said that, but right now her temper was starting to rise. Draco's expression turned stone rigid and he smashed his fists against the elevator walls. "Stop that! You're going to break the elevator. And Merlin help me if I have to be stuck in here any longer than I have to with you."

Draco shot her a glare, and Hermione jumped with a start, for the realising this was much, much different from the regular "differences in opinion which sometimes turned quite heated" they had and that her comment had crossed the line, she opened her mouth to apologise for the comment—not for anything else, but he spoke before her.

"You knew I wouldn't refuse the chance of running to your rescue."

"You were more than willing to help," she reminded him again. "You were there too! I didn't hold you by wandpoint at any time."

"You should've accepted your fate instead of choosing to drag me into this mess. You thought your job was important? Well this might come as a surprise, but my job was even more important to me!"

Hermione stared at Draco, whose whole body went rigid with resentment. After yelling out the last sentence, his anger turned icy cold again. Even though she was angry at Draco for throwing a fit and blaming her for everything, she could tell something was amiss. _He's too angry, I'm missing something, _Hermione realised. _There's something else._ She saw the strange and hurt expression in his eyes and she gulped as her heart sped up. What he said at the start. There had been an unspoken agreement between them to never speak of it… _Please don't,_ she silently begged.

"Screw that cube of yours. I've solved the ultimate puzzle. On the surface, you're beautiful. And I loved you for that," he said and his voice broke as he swallowed the fury he couldn't keep inside of him. Hermione cringed at his confession; he had opened the Pandora box created many years back, an incident that had rendered her speechless and she told no one about. "I loved you for the something good I thought I found in you, unlike all the arseholes surrounding me." He kicked at a stray puzzle piece at his feet. It skidded and rebounded against the wall. "But then you dragged me through your shitty problems and left me to rot because your job was _so_ important."

The dread of the confession—or whatever that might have been made her blood run ice cold. She had been patient, and she had tried explaining what her point of view was, but there was no way she could put up with this any longer, not when he started pulling anything and everything out in the open. And she hated how he was trying to accuse her of manipulating him, when he was trying to twist the story and force her to… she couldn't take it anymore. Draco Malfoy in this particular circumstance brought the absolute worse out of Hermione. "Malfoy, shut up!"

"You were supposed to be different—you weren't supposed to manipulate me with _that! _You were supposed to be the one thing I could trust to be good."

"I…" she said. She hated being backed into a corner like this! "I stand by what I said. You're responsible for your own actions, and… I'm with Ron."

"Oh, thank you, High Priestess of Obvious."

"I didn't say anything and pretended not to notice because you didn't want me to," she said, feeling defensive and hardly noticing she too had starting lumping tonight's incidence with something else entirely. "It's not fair you're mad at me for not returning your feelings. You knew I wouldn't return them."

"Hell as though I'm angry about that!"

"You knew the risks to the plan," she said again. Her voice only sounded shriller in the enclosed metal box. "And you're being a hypocrite if you're angry about me blaming things on you. You did the same!"

"I'm upset but I would have eventually gotten over it," he admitted. "But the reason why I'm furious, why I'm never going to treat you the same is not because you knew my feelings and didn't accept them, it was because it took but a second to use them against me for your own gain."

"I did not do that!" she insisted.

"Oh yeah, then why out of everyone you could have asked, you asked me?" he spat back. "Because out of everyone you knew the chances of someone being _so stupid _as to risk his job to help you—the only one daft enough is me!"

"No…" she said. "I asked you, because—"

"Don't try to deny it! You definitely thought about through everything before you approached me—hell to what would happen to me after! Don't you dare try to say otherwise, I've spent my whole life living with my family. I know. I know!"

Draco pressed all the buttons on the elevator and in a few seconds the doors opened to the nearest floor and he stepped outside. He turned and glared at her. "Don't come out." He didn't look back as the elevator door closed and he kicked the door to the staircase open. He would walk the remaining flights.

* * *

Hermione felt like a cork to a bottle, for the surmounting pressure in her heart about to make her explode. "But I didn't," she said, with the same angry defensiveness as a battalion as they charged down the hill to protect their land. She wasn't wrong in this. She didn't manipulate him or use him like that. She asked him and he made a free, deliberate and informed choice. Draco was a grown man and capable of taking responsibility of his own actions. It was unfair for him to even insinuate that _she_ would take advantages of his feelings—or anything of that sort.

And that was that.

* * *

Hope you guys enjoyed that. Obviously their relationship before was much much too happy without something to happen to it... TBC!


	10. Chapter Nine: Rants and Relisations

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Nine: Rants and Relisations

"Can you believe it?!" Hermione said to Ginny. Her index finger trailed against the walls the Potter's living room as she circled round and round, trying to walk off her frustration.

"You're making me dizzy," her red-haired companion complained and with a heave, Hermione flounced onto the sofa before immediately shooting up again. There was too much rage pent up in her to sit still, and like a rocket, a champagne cork, ready to launch off into the sky.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to realise he was horrible to work with." Ginny sipped her tea with a mollifying laugh, and with her cheery eyes had Harry Potter been there in the room, he would have fallen in love at first sight all over again. This period of her life was her prettiest; pregnancy dusted a rosy sheen across the banes of her cheeks and there was an air of confidence within Ginny that could only come from her completely adoring her own body, for as an expectant mother, she embraced her physique and popular body images stopped plaguing her as a baby grew in her womb. Ginny chortled, biting into a chocolate chip cookie. "Cookie?" she offered the box to her friend.

Hermione took a cookie from her and she snapped the biscuit between her teeth, pretending it was Draco's head. "How's the decoration for the room coming along?" she asked, trying to concentrate on the sweetness in her mouth; Mrs Weasley made the best home-made cookies. Molly claimed the only magic ingredient involved was the touch of love – but she always winked when she said that so Hermione could never be _quite_ sure whether she was serious or not…

Ginny sighed. "It's coming along, but I swear at the rate my brothers are buying gifts, we're going to have enough clothes for him until he attends Hogwarts… and that's not including presents from fans."

"Fans?"

"Mine of course," Ginny said with a grin. "Harry might have the fame, but I have the fortune of having the nicest fans who give the bests gifts."

"_Gifts aren't so nice when the givers aren't nice themselves…"_

"Yeah, you give gifts because you think they would enjoy it, don't you think so?" Hermione suddenly snapped. "There shouldn't be so much thought involved with it! Why does there have to be special _reason_ behind every action? Sometimes you do things on a whim!"

"Well at least this little intermission lasted for more than two sentences," Ginny said to herself, rolling her eyes.

"—that vile, loathsome, arrogant—"

* * *

"…know-it-all, conniving, manipulative—"

"Stop," said Blaise. As was their habit, they sat in a private booth in Pansy's bar to gossip about their week, but it had turned quickly into Draco's one-man rant fest. "We all know how much you hate Hermione Granger now. I preferred it when you were a love-sick fool."

"It's karma," Pansy said. "For all the pure-hearted females he's hurt."

"And you weren't one of them," Draco snapped.

Astoria rolled her eyes. Though she wasn't jealous, she didn't like how he kept going on and on about Hermione. There was only so many ways to say you hated someone! She held up her magazine and tried to change the subject. "Guess what I just read in _Witch?_"

"Oh," squealed Pansy, she climbed off Blaise's lap and scooted next to her. "Did they 'spot' you and Draco dating? Want to go on a double-date when the paparazzo follows you around?"

Astoria shrugged. "Sure. What do you say, Draco?" she asked, but his attention was still bent on coming up with more adjectives to proclaim his distaste for a certain witch. She narrowed her eyes when she saw Theo sitting a table away from them, fresh-face of seventeen holding up a glass to her and smirking. _Underage drinkers are liable to up to 200 hours of community work… _She scrunched a corner of the magazine.

"…a real eye opener—"

"It looks like you got over her, mate. If you were acting any way you are now, I would be celebrating, but can you just shut up?"

"An eye opener, I say—"

"Are you going to let him rant about Hermione Granger like that?" Theo mouthed to her. She shrugged and flipped her hair, the universal pureblood-girl sign of 'go away, I don't have time to deal with you'.

"Earth to Astoria," Pansy said, watching the younger witch with curiosity. "I was thinking back to our Hogwarts days…"

"What about it?" she said, and then quickly changed the subject. "Oh hey! Here's a list of activities that burns calories. Did you know you burn 130 calories every half hour you shop?"

Pansy leaned forward. Shopping and losing weight were two things that interested her a lot when she wasn't busy meddling with people's love lives. "Nice, and who said shopping was a waste of time!" She pointed to the corner of the page. "And you burn three calories each minute you snog!"

Blaise popped a peanut into his mouth and licked his lips. "You two are snogging?"

"Only if you snog Draco," she said. "Please do it. It might shut him up."

"…if I knew she was going to be like this…"

"It's your duty as his best friend," Astoria said.

Blaise sighed and slunk back in his chair. "I'm afraid even my most sincere efforts would be in vain. He's impossible when he gets in one of his moods." He flicked a peanut at Draco and the blond merely opened his mouth to catch it and chomped on it as he continued his tirade.

"This is the cool crowd everybody aimed to get into? I don't think we missed much," Theo said as Astoria rolled her eyes and shook her head, trying her best to ignore him.

Pansy slung her arm around the younger woman as though they were bosom buddies. "A little bird told me you were quite indulgent in the 'three calorie per minute' exercise."

"So were you, I presume."

Pansy pressed on, waggling her eyebrows. "I thought Draco and I were the longest running couple in Slytherin. But little did I know you sneaky little…"

"Just leave it alone."

"I can't. Everyone's boring me and I need some entertainment," she replied, giggling. "Tell me. I want to hear about the fall out."

"I do too," Theo said.

_Make that the three of us, _Astoria thought.

Pansy leaned in closer and whispered in Astoria's ear, "I've done some digging and heard a few _crazy_ things. What would happen if I told Draco?"

"I would hurt you," she threatened, and she definitely would. There were some things you did not divulge for _fun_... and unfortunately Pansy Parkinson was the sort who did not care about others if it meant sacrificing anything, even fun, at her own expense.

"You wouldn't," said Pansy, a horrific grin plastered across her face. "Do you want to tell me or should I start shouting out what I know? I'm getting a little bored and would like something to spice up the night."

"You just want to be entertained, right? I'll show you something good."

"Hm?" Pansy folded her arms and sat back.

Astoria pulled Draco by his tie and smashed her lips with his. Caught by surprise, Draco's eyes were wide open and his lips were stiff and unyielding. She moved closer to him and put her arms around his and his lips softened. Astoria threaded her fingers through his hair and was glad Draco no longer slicked his hair back with copious amounts of gel. Pansy and Blaise hooted as the pair deepened their kiss. When she was sure this spectacle had distracted Pansy, she pulled away and gave him one last peck on the lips. "You need to stop talking about girls in front of me."

Pansy laughed, having forgotten what she'd been talking about. "He's a horrible kisser, right?"

"He is," chirped Blaise.

* * *

**(That night)**

A bothered Draco thrashed in his bed, trying to decipher what happened a few hours ago. He pressed two fingers against his lips, and wondered why Astoria had kissed him in front of Pansy and Blaise. "I'll have to mention this to Astoria," mused Draco. "No snogging in public. We have a reputation to uphold." He shook his head, wiping the unconscious grin from his face. He'd just admitted he was a-okay with snogging in private. He groaned, wondering why he was so flustered. "It's only just a kiss." He picked up his cell phone at the side of the table and dialled Pansy's number, curling up in a ball as he waited for her to pick up.

"What?"

"I was thinking—Astoria and me. Maybe I should ban kissing."

He heard Pansy cackle in the background. "How'd you come up with that?"

"I can't stop thinking about her. Hey, are you laughing at me?"

"You're an idiot."

"Try insomniac."

"An idiot," she said. "Tell me, did you lose sleep when you kissed me?"

"Yes."

"And you liked me, right?"

"Yes, yes… so what?"

Pansy made a strangling sound. "IT MEANS YOU LIKE HER, YOU TWAT!"

Draco blinked. "What did you say?" He heard a groan and then…

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Pansy hung up on him!

At the same Astoria waved her wand and an orange cardbox flew onto her lap. She removed the lid, and the white wrapping paper crinkled as she unfurled the box's prized contents. _Handmade shoes by Club Le Faye… _the best fashion house in the world that had dominated the scene since time immemorial. Astoria contemplated the box of shoes, pressing the supple leather between he fingers. "Ha-ha, imagine what would happen if Malfoy found out he's worth less than a pair of shoes!" She scowled at Theo who chortled as he made the statement, and he encapsulated the lazy look: sprawled over her couch, his shirt was un-tucked and green-tie loosened. "So, what do you plan to do with the shoes?"

"They're not any kind of shoe," she said. "They're _the_ pair for the season."

Theo whistled. "And you're planning to do what with them?"

"I'm planning to give them to Pansy," she said. "To make sure she doesn't tell Draco about this."

"Who cares about what Malfoy thinks?"

"He's going to find out sooner or later. But I don't want to him to find out from someone else."

"You like him enough to give away those pair of shoes?" asked Theo. "You do, don't you?"

"I wouldn't have kissed him if I didn't." Theo made no reply and by the time she realised this, he had disappeared. Strange, it was the first time he had left her without being told. She sent a message Pansy, deciding to keep the pair of shoes to herself in the end.

* * *

0932

To: Pansy

From: Astoria

.

.

Don't tell Draco about that. I'll do it myself.

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

The Mar Company sent an enquiry. Although Director Mar didn't have enough evidence to bring the authorities in, she hired Detective Leigh, a man with a shiny badge to hassle the Pucey and Prewett company as revenge in its pettiest form.

"I find it strange someone broke into the Mar Company the same day Draco was admitted into hospital." Martha caught the end of his sentence as she opened the door with her foot, her hands preoccupied with a tray and a cup of coffee balanced on top. Beside Mr. Leigh, Hermione sat in her chair, arms crossed, lips zipped. Martha could tell the detective was giving up on her the same way a teacher would give on a particular belligerent student in class.

"It's Mr. Malfoy to you," said Martha snippily as she placed a cup of watered-down coffee in front of him. She may have spat in it. She hated the man on first sight when he had ordered her to fix a drink for him. The gall of him! The liquid sloshed around the cup and a few drops landed on the table-top.

"Darling, I know he may have a sweet face, but he's a bad guy," he said to her.

"I'm not your darling; I'm the receptionist," Martha snapped as stomped her way out of the client-interview room.

The detective whistled as the door slammed shut. "Are all the women in this company this strange? Or is it my handsome face that's making you girls act up?" he attempted to crack a joke. Hermione awarded him with a sneer. "Still not talking to me? Well, I guess there's nothing else."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her. Seated in a plastic chair outside the door, Draco stood up and bumped shoulders with her. She glared at him and he turned his nose up at her.

"Aw come on, it's been three days," Artie said as she took a seat beside him. The chair was warm. Not the same could be said for Draco's attitude towards Hermione. "Can't you at least work together for this? What if your stories don't match up? We'll never be able to get rid of him then."

As a perfect enactment of his former petulant self, Draco blew a loud raspberry at the pair of them before striding into the client room. He gave Mr. Leigh a feral smile as he sat down. He'd had terrible sleep last night, and never being a morning person, with the fallout with his colleague made him _irritable_, to say the least. The detective ran through some questions Draco gave neither here nor there replies to.

Finally, Mr Leigh scoffed. "Let me get this straight. You're telling me you can't remember why you were brought to hospital?"

Draco cracked a smile as the man shifted in his seat. After three years in Salem, he could read people like a grocery list. From the way Mr. Leigh played with his coffee cup, it told Draco that Hermione said nothing to him (as he expected). It meant he was free to come up with any story. Draco was the better one at trickery… or so he had thought!

"Uh-huh," said Draco, leaning so two of his chair legs were in the air. "I don't remember how I got there." That was true; he'd passed out and found himself on the hospital bed. "Must've blacked out from binge-drinking and overworking over Christmas. It's common in my line of work." He watched the man fiddle with his detective badge that was pinned on a trench-coat too large for him. It made him look even more like a farce than he was. "I'm sure Miss Hermione Granger must have told you the same thing, Mr. Leigh," he said. Consumed with hatred, he had flirted with the idea of incriminating Hermione, but he didn't hate her _that _much… plus he had sort of gained a conscience somewhere along the way, so to Draco's greatest pity he could no longer act out such thoughts.

"It's Detective Leigh."

"I'm hurt Director Mar would even suggest such a thing."

"Are you suggesting Director Mar is accusing you for no good reason?"

"Finally!" Draco stood up, started to clap and headed for the door. "I finally managed to get it across!"

"Mr. Malfoy, we're not done yet."

"We are done, my _fiend_. Time is money, and you're wasting mine. Find your way out of here and tell Director Mar not to do this without evidence."

Artie and Hermione got out of their chairs when they saw him come out. "We're done," Draco said to Artie. The three of them rode the elevator to the second floor for their daily briefing. When Pucey and Prewett demoted them, they took their office away and reassigned the team with adjacent work cubicles.

A blue file sat on Draco's file rack and he scowled when he saw it.

"You can't be serious," groaned Hermione, catching sight of the blue file. "Entrance-level work again?"

"I see there's no work for me to do," Draco said as he headed to the lunchroom. "Might as well grab a coffee."

"Come back here," snapped Hermione and a few workers looked at her. She ducked her head in apology and ran after him.

_If there's one thing good about this place, it's that it's next to the lunch room,_ thought Draco as he poured coffee into a mug. _I could get used to this. _He wasn't the one asking for advanced pay cheques. If there was any reconciling done, Hermione would have to get down on her knees and beg. Maybe he'd consider it then.

"You're a git." Hermione hovered behind him, and she knew drove him insane. He liked his personal space. Then, because she knew how much germs bothered him, she ran her finger against the kitchen-counter and stuck it into his cup of coffee at the peril of the hot liquid scalding her.

Draco resisted the urge to step away because it meant admitting defeat, but poured the coffee into the sink. He watched the brown liquid swirl down the drain as he twisted the tap onto full blast. Mug and sink now clean, he placed his dripping hands onto her shoulder and used her blouse to dry them.

Hermione jumped back as though he'd zapped her. "Yuck!"

"Oops," he said, flicking the remaining specks of water from his hands. "I mistook your shirt for a rag." His glee soon turned to fright when Hermione pulled her wand and aimed at it at him.

"Stop it!" Artie appeared beside them and pulled her away.

"She started it."

"You ruined my shirt. I should hex you into next week!"

"Look," pleaded Artie. "You two need to work together to get re-promoted."

"I'm not the one refusing to work on blue file cases." She glared at Draco, her head still hurt from all the magic she used to levitate the furniture and ornaments the day before.

"That's what house-elves are for."

"Can you hear yourself?"

Artie caught Draco by the arm and shot him a look. "I knew this was going to happen, so I requested this." In his hand was a grey file he managed to get permission for. "This case is more interesting than manual labour." He gave papers to Hermione and Draco and the latter received it with a look of reluctance often found on the faces of men in shoe shops.

"It involves the estate of the late Corwin Ackerly. He left everything to his son, Jon Acklery—problem is that Jon and Ben Acklery are identical twins and both claim to be Jon. No one knows who the real twin is. All their living relatives are dead after the war, and they have assumed new lives in different parts of the country going by Jon since then."

"Incredible," said Draco. "Why don't we just check their wands and see the names they're registered under?"

Hermione shook his head. "Do you think this would be grey-classed if they could figure it out like that? Look on page three… five lines down. All previous photographs of them have been destroyed in Hogwarts – you know how they burnt down the administrative building – and it looks like the Acklery home was burnt to the ground… they both lost their wands during the War and registered new ones under Jon Acklery. Artie, you're my assistant, right?"

"Yes."

"Then we should get to work and prepare a list of questions before they come."

"If I were you, I wouldn't work with that person. Not unless you want your weaknesses exploited."

"Go to hell, Malfoy."

"I feel like the kid with divorced parents," said Artie, raising his hands up into the air from defeat. "I don't know what happened after I was told to go home, but it's obvious something went down between the two of you. Whatever Hermione did to you, was it so bad for you to decide to never speak to her?"

Draco crossed his arms. "Of course."

"You drama queen!"

"Watch out, Artie, it's a trap," seethed Draco. "She'll stab you in the front and back without hesitation."

"Oh, I'd like to stab you right now!"

Artie sighed and hung his head, asking himself the age-old question: why couldn't people just get along with one another?

* * *

Facial features aside, the Ackerly twins were opposite ends of a spectrum. A businessman and a hobo. The prince and the pauper.

"Jon Ackerly," said one of the brothers. He was clean shaven, and wore a corporate look, with a keen smile on his face. He shook Draco's hand and sat himself onto a chair in their small conference room.

"Jon Ackerly," the other brother said, shaking Hermione's hand. They had the same thin lips and high brows, and she could see how difficult it must have had been for anyone to tell them apart, for even though she had spent years looking at identical twins pretending to be each other, feature-wise, the Ackerly brothers were on a whole different level. However, as this man claiming to be Jon had dreadlocks and wore loose clothing with the cuffs of his sleeves folded twice over, he stood as an antithesis to his brother. Hermione figured if he were not in such a prestigious firm, he would have forgone his shoes. According to the file, before the War, he and his brother acted and looked exactly the same, but it seemed post-War, both of them went through a massive wardrobe change. Neat-Jon pulled documents from his briefcase and slid it towards Hermione. "I've brought documents to prove my identity. Take a look."

"I've brought my ID too," countered Shabby-Jon. "The Ministry stamped their mark on everything; I swear it was all done legally. I don't know how Ben's managed to get those."

"The Ministry received two applications for Jon's identification documents within days of each other," Artie explained. "The war had just ended and the department was a mess. They didn't notice the double up."

"Which is most frustrating," Neat-Jon said.

Although the two—according to the profile report—hadn't spoken to each other in five years, their hate kept them familiar, and to Hermione it was utterly ironic a negative emotion had kept them together so tightly together even after all these years. Hermione turned to see whether Draco caught the irony too. She found him staring at her in a less-Darcy, more-creepy sort of way and she scowled. Just for that moment, she'd forgotten they were at war.

"I don't know how else to prove I'm Jon," said Shabby-Jon.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table and forced herself to stop when she saw Draco doing the same.

"I have an idea," said Draco. "Am I correct in assuming the less you see of the other the better?"

Shabby-Jon nodded and Neat-Jon said, "Most people assume twins _have_ get along with each other."

"Assumptions," said Draco, looking at Hermione with a propensity to pull her hair out, "are dangerous. They catch you off-guard and leave you stranded in desolation. But this is perfect for Miss Granger and my situation. We also wouldn't have to worry about conflict of interests if we do things the way I propose."

"Which is?" asked Neat-Jon, raising an eyebrow.

"Well our job is to offer some form of mediation to settle this matter…"

"So we will each represent one of you, and try help you compile all the evidence for your side of the story," said Hermione, catching onto Draco's idea, and quickly explaining the idea out to their clients; despite her animosity towards him, his idea impressed her. The less time she needed to spend with the git, the better. "And then we'll give our opinion on whose story we favour by the strength of the evidence."

"Who gets to decide?" Neat-Jon said, "If you're both helping us then you would be… biased."

"I will," Artie said, "Out of everyone here I'm best suited for the job. Now let's decide who represents whom."

"Fine by me," Shabby-Jon said with a shrug, and he eyed his brother, trying to gauge his reaction. He'd choose the person his brother wanted. Just to annoy him.

"We can decide with a coin-toss," said Hermione, seeing the early signs of a fight about to brew. "Heads for me; tails for Mr. Malfoy."

"Heads or tails?"

"Heads," they both said.

"I want to work with you," said Draco to Neat-Jon, sensing a fight in the air. "Let's get along."

_It's because of his suit!_ Hermione thought and sneered at Draco's transparent and shallow reasons.

"Don't play dirty, Granger," Draco said, recognising the fierce look on her face. When it came to competitions and winning, she had the tendency to become nasty.

"It's not a contest," she replied, knowing it became one as the words left her lips.

Shabby-Jon turned his head and watched his twin and Draco leave the room. "He's horrible, isn't he?"

"Trust me; my colleague is worse." She scanned the file to see if she could come up with anything. "Is there any one of your friends who could tell you apart? I see it's been quite a while since you've last been in London."

"No, I don't think so," said Shabby-Jon. "Our classmates didn't even try and would just call us BJ. Thinking back, they were some friends, huh! Only Father could do it." Shabby-Jon shrugged and leaned back in his seat. Hermione saw underneath the table, he was kicking off his shoes. "Oh, except for this girl. Ben went out with her for two months. She could tell always us apart except for one time. I don't think she wants anything to do with us though."

Hermione's eyes lit up. That sounded just the sort of person she was looking for. "What's her name?"

* * *

"Melinda Tipping," Neat-Jon declared to Draco as he slammed his coffee cup down with a loud clank, "was one of the most beautiful girls in our year and without a doubt, the trickiest. If you thought a puppet had strings attached, you should see Melinda."

"I'm guessing things crashed and burned with her and Ben? What did he do?" Draco hated to ask but wanted to know.

"This was not the brightest moment of my life but Ben convinced me it would be funny if I pretended to be him and go on a date, whatever," said Neat-Jon. "That's how he always got through life; thought things would be funny, said and did horrible things to people and sat back to see and watched the world burn. Anyway, she found out about the prank and burnt our house down."

"That sounds,"—he was about to say Pansy-like, but didn't think Jon would get the reference—"extreme." Draco wondered if Melinda was touched in the head; it was such a big reaction to a prank like that!

"It gave me a good reason to leave. My father was in prison—not that it meant much… we had a huge falling out… funny because of it was all because of my _twin_—and our house was burnt down so there was nothing to stay for," he said. "She could always to tell the difference between us, but I'm not sure about now... if you do find her, just make sure she doesn't get too close to me. I wouldn't want to be a victim of some unfortunate accident." He made quotes with his fingers as he said the last word.

Melinda Tipping. She sounded like someone Draco could talk into helping.


	11. Chapter Ten: Moving On

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Ten: Moving On

* * *

Another day, another day of hell of dealing with one of the most incorrigible humans ever to have condemned (not graced) the earth with his presence. Three days past since the initial meeting with the Ackerly Brothers and there had been no significant advancement with the case. Not due to the lack of effort on her part though; she just didn't seem to have any _time_. Although Artie had managed to wheedle a grey file for her and He Who Pissed Her Off, they still had to meet their daily quota of blue-file cases. Since they refused to communicate with each other, things were inefficient, and with any definition of teamwork blasted into the next century, they turned from the fastest to the slowest unit in the department.

Hermione had –she really had—tried to hold a small olive branch to Draco. If they weren't going to be friends they could at least talk to each other on a basic level for work purposes... or so she had thought. Draco had promptly thrown her figurative olive branch into a wood chipper and screamed _Incendio_ to said pieces in a spiteful blaze. That was fine with Hermione; she didn't want to deal with him anyway. Any time not spent with him was a solace to her. Whatever. She was tired. Tired of him.

As though the storm reflected her heart, the wind beat and pelted rain against her thin umbrella. She pushed against the wind as she made her towards home, and the metal skeleton of the umbrella braced against the fabric, looking like it would pierce the rayon any time. Of course she could have Apparated home, but having worked to the bone with entry-level tasks she felt as though she was not merely robbed of her energy and enthusiasm, but also a few IQ points and buckets of her emotional quotient; she had not been in any state to take herself home. She had also thought, rather incorrectly, a walk through a blistering storm would help rejuvenate her. Hermione did not feel rejuvenated with this connection with nature. She felt as though the sky was spitting bullets at her; rain-repelling charm casted or not, and walking against the wind only tired her out more. Of course she could at any time Apparate to the comfort of her home, but she had already _committed_ to getting there by foot. Having walked more than half the distance, a stubborn streak of hers refused to take the easy way out.

Three-quarters of the way there, she felt foolish, but regardless, chose to press on and she continued to regret her decision until she finally reached her doorstep. She walked in, and the door swung shut behind her. The interior was pitch-black, warm and silent—a strong juxtaposition against the outside world. Her comfort. Sighing, she dropped the near-useless umbrella. It hit the ground with a thud and she drew out her wand to spread illumination into the house. By amazing coincidence, the little light at the end of her wand pointed directly towards Ron's chin, just below the wide-spread grin across his face. Hermione gave a surprised laugh as he pulled her into his arms and planted a sloppy kiss on the side of her cheek with a loud smack. "What's the occasion?" she asked, as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear for her.

"Although I have the emotional range of teaspoon, I do notice when my girlfriend is having a hard time at work," Ron said and he set her down onto a chair, pushing it towards their small dining table. On top of it was a feast fit for two, and Hermione could spot just from a glimpse it had been planned and made with her specifically in mind: on each dish, all her favourites, the topping spelt one letter. A three-worded sentence which never lost its meaning when said or written, notwithstanding it formed out of carrots, a drizzle of sauce, and icing on dessert. "I thought I would cheer you up with a little R n R: Ron and Relaxation. I read up on all the foods meant to give you extra energy and cheer. First on tonight's menu, a salad with potatoes, beans, mushrooms and spinach- folate-rich food, which reduces high levels of homocysteine that interferes with the flow of blood and nutrients to the brain."

"When did you become a nutrition expert?" Hermione grinned and leaned towards Ron, so the top-back of her head rested against Ron's stomach.

"Witch Weekly, courtesy of Ginny's coffee table. It only took me two tries to remember the little spiel." He squeezed her shoulders and bent down so that his face was levelled with hers. Cheek to cheek, he wrapped one arm drawing her close and pointed to a magazine beside the kitchen sink. The edition rested against a tall metal pot Hermione and Ron had dubbed as their bookstand—it had seen more use as its namesake than what it was designed for. Two jars of pickles, gherkin and peppers, again more present for its colour and its contribution to décor in the kitchen than for consumption, acted as paper weights on the sides of the magazine to keep it open.

"That's why I decided to date you," she said, between rather enthusiastic kisses.

"For my strong memory to remember quotes word for word?" he asked. "And all along I thought you were with me for my smile…"

When Hermione pulled him into a tight embrace and held Ron there for a long, long time, he smiled. After Hermione's vice-like hugs she would lose the tension in her shoulders, and her mood would gradually improve with the night. This had hardly been the first occasion when Hermione had been stressed. Each time it was Ron alleviated her stress. Her first semester finals in Salem came to mind as Ron's first successful attempt in making sure she kept everything in perspective. Hardly sleeping or eating, Hermione had been wasting away into a husk until Ron had invaded her flat, took charge and forced her to accompany him on a leisurely picnic. Apparently the magical formula fell somewhere in the spectrum of picnics, sandwiches and twine baskets, dessert, and casual dining.

"No, silly. Because you put so much effort in making me happy."

After some Ron and Relaxation, she finally felt like she could think again, though the cloudiness in her mind still clung to her train of thoughts like a persistent cobweb. She finally realised since she was at war with Draco, she didn't have to _care_ or be concerned if he was buried in his pile of work. There was no need to check up on how he was doing, as long as she completed her own tasks. Her habitually caring nature had not been turned off even with their fight and she had routinely checked up on his progress—a task without his cooperation had been rendered time consuming and impossible. It was hard to let go, but when she did, she had spare time on her hands to start the Ackerly case after a few days.

And how here she was, one step ahead of the game. She gave a tired smile to the girl in front of her. Melinda Tipping looked like a girl who bullied others at school. She wore her hair in cork-screw curls and metallic pink lip-gloss glistened across her thin lips. Hermione shifted her eyes and Artie shuffled in his shoes. The woman made them relive their teenage angst with her demeanour. "Melinda Tipping?" Hermione called out, crossing her fingers and hoping it wasn't the woman wiping the tables in front of her.

"That's my name, don't wear it out, sugar!" she called back to them. The dirty dishes clanked against each other, and bits of spaghetti and tomato sauce flew onto the table as she slapped one on top of one another. Melinda strutted into the kitchen and when she came out to the front, her hands were on her hips.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I'd like to speak with you. When does your shift end?"

"Hun, I know I might look nice and all, but I have no interest in spending my free time with you. If you want to talk, there's no time like the present."

"Well, okay," Hermione said and it came out sharper than she intended. "Do you remember Ben and Jon Acklery?"

Melinda sank into one of the bar chairs and shrugged. "Yup, dated Ben for what, four months in my last year of Hogwarts? Then he pissed me off so much I burnt his house down." She smiled and her pointy incisors protruded out of her mouth. "Should've seen that place go up in flames!"

"We were wondering if you could tell us how you told them apart," said Artie, stepping in.

"It's been so long," Melinda sighed but tapped her chin when she took a look at Artie. "But you know, if you had some time after, I might be able to remember."

"I thought you had no interest in spending your free time with us."

Melinda blinked at Hermione twice. "I said that to _you_." She made a show of crossing and uncrossing her legs before she spoke, looking very pointedly at Artie, who gave an embarrassed cough.

"Please?" he asked, after Hermione nudged him not-so-delicately in his ribs. He gave a small smile at her for effect.

"Their personalities are different," she said. "Subtly so, but I could always tell. Ben was always more open-minded. Dated a muggle-born." She jabbed a finger at herself and continued, "His dad was against us, me being Muggle-born and all. It might've been the reason why we lasted so long, it drove his dad bonkers when Jon told him, said he was going to blast him off the family tree and all that."

_Four months. Four months was long? _"Anything else?" Hermione pressed.

She shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"Could you identify them for us instead?" Artie asked.

"Ha! Not unless you could give me two million galleons."

Hermione almost let out her snort. "No thanks." Hermione turned her heel and left the restaurant. When she walked out onto the street, she huffed and scowled. "Good grief! I can't handle her type—" it was then she noticed Artie hadn't left the restaurant. Through the glass window, she saw Melinda lean forward and whisper something into his ear. He nodded as though he was grabbing onto every word she said and he left the establishment.

"She told me something extra. I don't know if it helps or anything, but Ben was real pretentious, when Melinda dated him, he was obsessed with magic tricks because he thought it was ironic for real wizards to perform fake magic."

"Yeah, real useful! We can have a contest and see who can pull a rabbit out of a hat," Hermione grumbled as they Apparated back to the company. She shoved passed a man and hissed at him like an offended cat.

"Steady on, Granger. Wouldn't want to turn someone into stone with that horrible face."

"If I could turn you into stone, Malfoy, you'd be the first statue in my collection," she snapped at the retreating figure. He wore a fancy (and totally impractical) suit-coat which fluttered in the wind as he walked. "Now _that_ is pretentious," she said, pointing to Draco.

* * *

It took longer for Draco to travel to his destination than it did for Artie and Hermione and he used the extra time to wallow in his horrible predicament. Times like these served as a reminder of how close he had been to fulfilling his goal and how he had thrown it away for the likes of Hermione. Without the proper authorisation to access Ministry files, the questions plaguing him would remain a mystery for the rest of his life. Draco pushed his way through a couple holding hands and scowled at the restaurant. Its chequered floors and red leather seats looked tacky. He tapped one of the waiters on the shoulder.

"May I please speak to Melinda Tipping?"

"Oh, she's popular today. Melinda, someone's here to see you again!"

"Is it that cute guy from that firm?" Melinda's voice came from behind the kitchen doors.

The cashier gave Draco an once-over and hollered back. "He's not that cute."—and before Draco could be offended at the comment—"more of the broody type if you ask me!"

Blatant objectification aside, Draco's eyes narrowed at the cashier's comment. Someone had been there today. Hermione, with presumably Artie. _Ugh, I have to keep on my toes or she'll leave me in her trail of dust._ Whether he hated every particle of her or not, he had to admit she was good, and it was only two all-nighters did he manage to finish his tasks.

"Oh, a blond's come to see me this time." Melinda twirled her corkscrew curls and strutted over to Draco in heels so high, Pansy might have had trouble walking in them (oh, who was he kidding? Pansy the devil incarnate would have done fine). "You know what I think? Blonds have the most fun."

"They do," said Draco, giving her a sensible smile. "I know a few people have asked you about Ben and Jon Acklery. I want to know everything you told them… and more."

Melinda's eyes glinted and Draco remembered what Jon said to him the other day: _If you thought a puppet had strings attached, you should see Melinda_

"Please?" he asked with a pout. "I'm in a little competition and I don't want the uptight-witch to win."

"You know, I could identify them in person for a price."

_Now we're talking. _He smiled until his cheeks ached. "What would you like?"

* * *

The paperwork sitting in front of Artie grew forth and multiplied. It'd been a day since Hermione and Artie visited Melinda and when his superior decided to drop all communication with Draco, there was more work to do…. only Artie had to pick up their slack and fueled by animosity for each other Hermione and Draco rarely noticed anything amiss… which meant longer hours for him at the company. Ellen called him for sweet for staying behind. Martha called him an idiot. He wanted to believe what Ellen said, but was more inclined towards Martha's interpretation.

"Would you stop that?" snapped Draco. Hermione flashed her pocket mirror so light danced across his face. "Are you trying to blind me?" He selected a ball-point pen from his stationery stash. "This is your neck," he said, twisting the blue cap off the pen and glared at her.

Hermione ignored him and stared down at her piece of paper. Artie frowned at this unusual display. She'd normally snap back with something witty but right now she was quiet as though she was waiting for something to happen…

"ARGH!" screamed Draco. Artie's head snapped to his direction and he saw Draco throw the pen at Hermione. "What have you done?!"

And what heinous crime did he accuse her of? Artie craned his neck and saw the newest word on the parchment half written in _red _ink.

"You've taken this one step too far," Draco said, scowling. "You've made this personal. You better prepare yourself."

"Bring it on," she replied without missing a beat. She smirked at the blond, not the slightest bit intimidated. "What are you going to do? You have _one_ word that's written in black and one is in _red_." Artie threw Draco his bottle of correction fluid and Hermione cackled. "But those official documents don't allow corrections! The words are magically attached to the paper and impervious to magic! You'll have to rewrite the whole thing!" she said with unfettered glee.

Draco scrunched up the parchment before stomping out of the room to get a new piece.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Artie, getting tired of his superior's antics. He was starting to feel like _their_ superior! "You know how peculiar he is with those things."

"All the easier to prank," she said, her voice saturated with pure glee. "People like him are so easy to anger. They blow up over the smallest things."

Artie sighed. "No wonder why he has trust issues."

Hermione glared at him as though he dumped a bucket of cold water over her and popped her birthday balloons.

Their day continued to be dysfunctional and inefficient. After what Artie felt like a thousand years, the clock chimed five times. Hermione got up and stretched, she placed a report she'd worked on for the last three on the 'completed' pile and scowled. An identical report Draco wrote and time-stamped 'completed' two hours ago sat beneath hers. She stomped out of the corridor, into the elevator and passed Martha who waved at her.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione—whoa! What's up with her?"

Hermione ploughed through the foyer and stepped into the fireplace, a burning blaze of anger. "The Nest!" she yelled, throwing the powder at her feet. She punched the side of the fireplace hard when nothing happened and the powder landed onto her tights and shoes. She forgot their Floo had broken down, _again_. She kicked the powder off her feet and it left a green haze where she stood. She coughed, tears coming up in her eyes when she inhaled some by accident. "ARGH!"

"I know you visit brutish places," said the exact person she did not want to see. "But I'm sure 'ARGH' is not a place."

Hermione grabbed a handful of powder, not for transport, but as a projectile into Draco's face. Relishing Draco's face scrunched up, she Apparated onto her front porch and jammed her key into their small apartment. She frowned when she found it unlocked. "Ron," she said as she pushed the door open. "I _told_ you not to leave the doors unlocked—hi, Molly!"

The older woman beamed at her, she wore rubber cleaning gloves and they dripped across the vinyl floor. "Welcome home, Hermione. Long story short, the oven and your dinner blew up so I came in as reinforcement."

"Oh god, never mind the oven, is everyone okay?"

"Alive and kicking," he confirmed. "Less could be said about your dinner though. Remind me never to cast any strong spells in its direction when it's on?"

"As long as you are all right," Hermione said weakly when she saw the charred metal lump where the oven used to be. Advances with technology and magic were being made every day, but such mishaps were not an oddity. With 95% success rate, there was always that 5% chance of technology and magic interacted dangerously with each other. They were lucky no one was hurt!

Molly sat her down on the table and Ron grinned at her. _This is so good_, he mouthed to her, with his mouth full of food he said, "Thanks Mom," said Ron as he tore through his slab of steak.

"Use your knife!" Molly and Hermione told Ron at the same time. Both women smiled at each other, and a lightbulb in Hermione's head lit. Who better to tell the difference between identical twins than a brother and their mother?

"Say, Ron. How did you tell Fred and George apart?"

Ron looked up at Hermione and shrugged. "I 'unno, just knew," he said, gnawing at the steak. Brown sauce trickled down his fingers as he ate. "Why?"

"It's just this case I'm working on."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe just ask them or something?"

"I know this sounds horrible as a mother," said Molly, drying the dishes with a cloth. "But I just took them a package deal."

"Maybe you can use Veritaserum," Ron said.

"Anything _legal?_"

"Pay them to tell the truth? What's up?"

"I'm not really allowed to say," she replied, and Ron nodded knowing that she couldn't disclose anything about her work to them. Hermione tapped her chin as she mused, "I wonder if they ever felt bad about being grouped together all the time though. It would drive me mad if I had to share my identity with someone."

Molly laughed. "I wouldn't know. But Fred and George never minded much. They were… they were close." Molly's smile faltered and she concentrated on wiping her hands. "That _was_ who they were. Fred and George. There was never one without the other."

"Mum." Ron got out of his chair and gave her a hug and suddenly Hermione felt like an insensitive brick for bringing it up.

"I didn't mean to…"

Molly wiped a tear from her eye. Death often created a greater impact on a lives than the life taken ever could. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. Please don't think you did. I just miss him so much." She took a deep breath. "I think I'll excuse myself now. Enjoy your meal." She dashed out of their apartment complex, the door banging shut behind her.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, "I didn't mean to…"

"I know," Ron said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Don't worry about it… she just gets sad once every so often…" He placed his hand over hers and she could feel the grease on his fingers. She looked down at their hands and she tried her best not to frown. "Hey, I dunno what's happening at work. But you're smart, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Hermione felt terrible and guilty for making Molly cry, and she knew she had already been in a terrible mood recently, and she really tried her best not to direct any of her negative feelings to Ron, an unlucky recipient.

But even so, even if she had been feeling all right, what Ron said, supposed to be an encouragement, really irked her._"I dunno" or "I 'unno". __When we first started dating, I thought it was cute, _she thought. Not just that, but what he just said… 'You're smart, you'll pull through.' Those were the words of comfort he provided. She was supposed to handle everything herself because she was 'smart'. Whenever he said that she'd felt the uncomfortable sensation of being overrated. This was definitely not the first time she had such thoughts—in fact these worries had plagued her throughout the first year of the relationship, but upon schooling in Salem, the problem seemed to have had magically disappeared.

It raised again reared its ugly head again when she moved back to England, but she dismissed it, diagnosing the source of the thoughts as a product of her pessimistic mind in adjusting back to the new country. That too, had disappeared after a year or so. But now, she noticed the keen coincidence as to when, she or should she say who, was absent when she felt this particular brand of malaise.

"Do you really think I can handle all my problems myself?" she asked, trying to make her voice as even as possible.

Ron's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Of course! You're Hermione, and if I had to watch you in any fight and had to bet on a winning side, I would always choose you."

Because to Ron, she was a smart girl, a girl who he was really good at pulling out from a slump. To tell her things were going to be okay, because she could do it.

To Hermione, the words suddenly terrified her; she could always count on Ron to tell her things were _going_ to be okay… but he could never be there to _make_ things okay. That was all up to her. He was just there… and she loved him for that.

She did, really.

She didn't want to rely on anyone else but herself. But the things she valued most in life, to move forward, what was his place if he never inspired her to grow?

Standing right beside Ron, close enough to touch, his words that provided comfort but inspired no encouragement whispered an admonition to her heart. The person who challenged her, made her grow was not the one standing beside her.

And this really scared her. What made it worse was that she never so much _noticed_, and Ron had become the happy benefactor of the void filled, rather unconditionally by this specific person, who claimed no credit for such his role. In the times she had trouble or needed help, there was one person she would ask go to.

Weak at her knees, Hermione felt as though someone had just dropped her in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a kayak without a paddle.

Her breath hitched. This was not a realisation she made for the first time, but somehow _somehow_, this time it meant much more to her than other times; maybe she was fast running out of excuses—it wasn't because their relationship was new—it wasn't because they were fighting—

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Ron, I…" Hermione said with a sense of helplessness."I need to clear my head. Get my thoughts in order." She grabbed her winter coat and her wand before Apparating away.

"Wait—" Ron said, and lunged at empty air. "What?"

When they fought, it usually ended up with Hermione leaving to 'cool off'. Sometimes she would come home after a few hours. Sometimes she wouldn't come home for days. But they weren't in a fight… so what was happening?

* * *

Astoria traced her fingers against the scarred trunk of a tree, where it and she stood in the garden frosted with snow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was why she hated coming here, too many memories, and too much regret. But sure enough some moments thereon, beside the tree swinging to and fro, on the spot right next to her was a shadow shaped in her fancy—a broad set of shoulders and a beloved head full of dark brown curls.

She didn't dare to turn around, but said: "You're not actually standing behind me, I'm sure of it. How else could you get into this garden?"

Astoria wished there was no response, for the sound of his voice spurred a fresh brand of grief: "Because I'm always with you, so look at me," he said.

She turned her head an inch at a time, and saw the handsome face of Theodore Nott standing an arm's length away from her. She had not heard the sharp pop! of an Apparition, nor would there be an extra set of footprints marking his path towards her… yet there he was.

Warm tears leaked from her eyes, and she left him behind, treating him as a ghost (no, not a ghost because those could pass through you—that was how she realised the Theo she saw was _not_ a ghost), but a spectre in the winds of her delusions.

"Astoria!" he called out to her, and she turned her head sharply; she wanted to jump into his arms and hug him, but she continued her rigid steps away from him, slowly, movements like a monolith of stone. She would not move closer, extend a hand and discover there was nothing in her belief. He too did not—could not move any closer, for she was the one who willed this to be so, out of her own volition or not, lest her dream should fade.

By the time Astoria felt calm enough to Apparate, her shoes were ruined from the slush and mud of the gardens. She shivered from the cold and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. As she crossed the road towards her apartment complex, she heard footsteps beside her. She glanced to her side to see Draco, taking one slow step at a time, matching her pace.

"You'll ruin your fabulous shoes like that," he joked. She couldn't even smile at him… and to her horror let out a small hiccup. Draco grimaced at the sombre look on her face; even the copious amount of concealer and illuminator could not take away the sleepless nights off her countenance. He said nothing, and took one of her cold hands, laced his fingers with his and put them into his pockets. Astoria sniffed, partly from the cold and from being moved to tears by this perfect gesture; years may have restored buildings and policies, but time only smudged the sharp pangs of loss and pain from the war.

Sensing she needed some time alone, Draco stopped right in front of her door to her ridiculously neat apartment. She hated disorder; a trait manifested when she had been forced to categorise what was real and what wasn't. He pulled her into a hug, and she held him as though her heart was a boat on the stormy sea and he was an anchor for her soul.

"Hey…" he said, and his fingertips ran through the length of her windswept hair. "I'm here for you."

'I'm always with you' and 'I'm here for you'. That was the difference between someone who you clung to for familiarity, who was always beside you; and someone you ought to choose—someone who could support you, who could get you to move on, to grow.

After a long, long time Astoria let go of Draco and studied his face; the low lighting illuminated his eyes, making them appear more silver than gray. "You're kind of beautiful," she blurted out. Then she realised how stupid she sounded. She hadn't done this romance thing in a long time.

Draco gave a low chuckle. "So are you, and I'm not saying that just to woo you, or to prove a point to anyone or anything…" he trailed off. His cheeks turned an unfamiliar shade of pink which suited his unexpected bout of ineloquence. He paused, having trouble conveying what he wanted to say, yet Astoria understood.

"There are people you like less when you get to know them better… and there are others you like more and more."

"Really? And which one am I?"

Astoria answered his question by kissing him, because she wanted to. And more than the physical act of walking away, more than putting anything in the form of words, she let go.

* * *

**A/N: Happy new year and best of luck for 2016!**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Change

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Eleven: Change

**(2100h)**

"D-Do you think I'm stupid?" Ron stammered.

Harry frowned and shook his head, draining his glass of butterbeer. Their somber conversation felt incongruous to the cheerful atmosphere within the pub. Strangers hugged strangers as the Chudley Cannons did what most thought deemed impossible: win an in-season game, but both of them could not muster vivacity to their expressions. It was as though someone had injected lead into their facial muscles. "You beat me in every game of chess."

Ron shook his head, unconvinced. "Not with like games and such, but with people. I mean, more specifically, do you think I'm Hermione-stupid… I have no idea why she just bolted."

"Well she's not Hermione for nothing if she doesn't operate on a higher level than us," Harry tried to joke.

Ron took a long gulp of his drink, relishing the burn down his throat and the acrid taste on his tongue while he played with paper coaster, torn into little pieces, as he brought up the courage to confide in Harry. "I don't even know what I said to make her act up like this. It's happened a few times before, and each time I have no idea what's going on. I mean, I know work's been hard on her lately, and we even got into an argument when she found out I bought a new broom... but whatever's happening—" Ron made large waving motions at the abstract, "Which is bigger than all of this. I can't ask her or try to fix it when she's not here."

"And what happens when she runs off?" Harry asked, and he shifted in his seat with a glum expression on his face.

"She comes back," said Ron. "She doesn't say anything, so I never ask and that was the end of it."

Harry sighed and held back the urge to palm either himself or Ron in the face. "And how does that solve anything?"

"Well, I think she runs off because she needs some space and time to sort through her feelings," Ron said, and paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Hermione doesn't like to rely on others, and she likes to solve her problems herself."

"Yes that certainly is true," Harry conceded. "But…"

"Sometimes I think we worked better in a long-distance relationship," Ron confessed. As the words left his mouth, his shoulders slumped. "I take that back, but I hate this, whatever's going on."

"Maybe she just needs time, like the times before." Harry didn't know what else to do but resort to clichés.

Ron wrung the end of his shirt as though it was a towel which needed to be dried. "I feel like there's this gap between us. We're different people. I love her to bits. I love her so much."

"Opposites attract," Harry pointed out. "Look at Ginny and me. I'm reserved and she's outspoken. We complete each other."

Ron sighed. "I know that. But. Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Harry pushed up his glasses as he considered this. "I hope that I'll be working in the A-squad. James will be four by then so I'll be there with Ginny on the first day we take him to kindergarten. She'll cry a lot." Harry smiled sheepishly, caught up in the image of his future. "And I'll cry a little bit too."

"That's another thing. I try so hard to imagine what life'll be like. Never mind five, I can't even imagine the next year. Hermione and me together, where we'd be, what we'd be doing."

"You were never gifted in Seeing," Harry attempted to joke.

Ron chuckled and sighed. "Yeah… I don't know if it's because it's really because I can't imagine the future, or I just don't want to try, just in case it's something that I don't expect in it." He drained his mug and shook the last dregs into his mouth. He peered into the end of the tumbler where the beer foam remained, and tried to make descry his future from its geometry. "Sorry for being such a downer, and making you an Agony Aunt. It's your only night free for the first time in weeks and I've dragged you to The Three Broomsticks. We even missed the legendary Chudley Cannons victory because of I was moping!"

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure there will be play-by-play recounts for the years to come," Harry said, giving him a nod. With their semi-private conversation over, Harry waved his wand and the ambient noise around them grew louder and more immediate as his charm dispelled. The immediate effect was apparently when a warm hand grabbed Harry by the shoulder.

"Harry! It's been yonks since I last talked to you. How are you doing?" A tall man had yanked Harry out of his chair and swung him into a bear hug.

"Seamus! Ron gave a loud laugh when Harry winced at the contact, and when Seamus came up to hug him, the contact sounded like a loud clap of thunder. Neither men seemed to mind; they were too busy slapping each other on the back in their unexpected reunion. "Last time I talked to you I thought you had gone crazy, what with you saying you were making thousands of metal cages for every home."

"Well, I wasn't _allowed_ to say what I was doing," he said cheekily. "But I did tell you the truth didn't I?"

Ron shook his head. "Despite your _affinity _with fire, how did you figure your rightful place was working with expensive equipment that shoots sparks all the time? Can you imagine how surprised I was when I found your name on the box on every Muggle appliance Hermione and I bought?"

Seamus couldn't help but swell with pride. Even for a modest person, being the contractor who oversaw and built the technology responsible for the Second Wave of the Muggle Revolution was no small feat.

"The hardest part of the job was keeping it all a secret," Seamus said, settling into his favourite recount. "The team acts like they're in a spy novel. I'd swear the look on Adrian's face when he took me into the room to discuss the project… I felt like James Bond for a moment."

"James Bond? Who's that?"

After leaving Ron and Seamus to catch up, but not before profuse promises to say "hello" to Ginny, Harry Apparated out of the bar and into the entrance of his house. Meeting Seamus made Harry realise people changed, and time had passed more quickly than he realised. He'd previously been worried how he and his friends would cope, what with the war in the last year of their education – whereas it seemed his worries were misplaced. Even Seamus, who as one of the classmates had struggled to sit still and repeat his final year had changed to a dedicated man who loved, and couldn't stop talking about his job. It was testimony to how much people adapted to new situations and transformed when placed in a different niche.

Harry placed a hand against a wall as he slipped off his shoes. They clacked against the wooden frame of the shoe rack beside the front door, and he saw a pair of formal black pumps where he'd have placed his shoes. "Ginny?" he called out as he entered the house.

Inside, Ginny looked up from the sofa at the sound of her name and beckoned to Harry, who hovered at the entrance of the living room, unsure of how to proceed.

Hermione sat stoned-face beside his wife, looking as though someone had ironed her back straight. She was too distraught to even give him a nod of acknowledgement. "_I_ was awful to him."

Ginny sighed, motioning Harry to come closer. He obeyed, albeit with his feet dragging every step of the way. "What do I say to her?" he mouthed. Ginny scowled as her husband and patted Hermione on the arm consolingly.

"Harry was just with Ron," she announced.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. He shuffled closer to Ginny for support, and grabbed her hand. He squeezed hers and she gave a comforting look in return. "Ron's not angry. He's just confused. I think you should talk to him."

"But there's nothing to say," Hermione replied.

"Oh… um…" Harry wished he was far far away. He did _not_ know how to handle Hermione when she acted like this. Give him a horn-tailed dragon any day! "I just want you to know that _both_ of you are my best friends and I will be support both of you. I refuse to pick sides."

Ginny rolled her eyes did what she did best and took control of the situation. "Look, we both don't know what's happening with you and Ron. Whatever is between the two of you, is between you two. No one else can fix it for you. But let me give you one piece of advice," said Ginny. "If you want this relationship, you'll have to fight for it. Go back to The Nest and apologize to Ron. I'm sure he will forgive you. He loves you too much not to."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, I understand it's really up to us, _me _to solve this situation. Thanks for your advice... and sorry about eating your whole tin of biscuits."

She smiled at the couple. "See you soon." Drawing her wand out of her pocket, she disappeared with a loud crack.

Harry raised his eyebrows at his wife. "What do you think of that?"

Ginny sighed and took a seat on the couch again. "It's been two years since she's come back and I think they're moving out of their honeymoon phase."

Harry grimaced. "You call the last two years their 'honeymoon phase'?"

"From what I've heard, they've never had an actual fight." She frowned, doubtful of her own words.

"What?"

"She says she can't take it anymore and runs. Not Hermione-like, don't you think? She's usually adopts the charge and take-no-prisoners approach."

Harry took a seat beside Ginny and propped her feet onto his lap. Ginny sighed as he began massaging them. "That feels good. Keep doing that," she ordered. "I think I can understand her feelings. She's told me a few things… Hermione's parents are Muggle."

"Yeah, and so?"

"Just how she's grown up as a person. The one thing she likes best is learning; change is a good thing for her."

"That does sound like Hermione?"

"And I think Ron's content with what he's always known and Hermione's not."

"Yeah, they're quite different," Harry agreed, recalling back to the conversation he had with him in the pub.

* * *

**(1930h)**

"I'm friends with the owner," Draco explained as he led Astoria to a large building complex by the hand. He ignored the elevator and instead, took the stairs, two at a time. When Draco had caught her by her apartment, they'd come to the conclusion they really needed to talk.

And there was one big thing she needed to tell him.

"What was wrong with the elevator?"

"Sometimes it stops working," he said, though he'd taken the stairs because of The Incident. Just hearing the 'ding' of the elevator made his blood pressure shoot up.

"Right," she muttered under her breath and she froze when she heard footsteps behind her. Theo.

"I swear the food is better than decent and worth the walk up," said Draco.

"You should reserve your judgment, my dear, until after you've eaten. He's been known to lie."

Astoria linked arms with Draco and summoned her best smile. "Show me the way."

They turned a corner and a bell rung as Draco pushed the restaurant door open. The interior was tidy and well-lit with small wooden tables, red and white checkered table cloths, light music in the background; a place Astoria might have visited herself. A sweet smell of coffee and casserole filled the air and she saw a fat man run up to greet them.

"Draco! Looking good as usual, who is this friend of yours?"

Astoria cleared her throat. "Girlfriend," she said, and it felt odd to refer herself that way. Though she had said that before, this was the first time it was… true. "We've decided to bring our relationship public. It's been a little over two months."

"Oh," he said with a grin. "So that's why he always came alone."

"This is Mike," said Draco before the man could tell her more about his lonely dining habits. The man offered a handshake to Astoria. "He makes the best casserole in England. You like fish, right?"

"Sure," she said and stiffened when she sensed the presence beside her. She closed her eyes and recovered herself. A couple of years ago, she would have jumped when Theo appeared right up close. Now she was in control and could act as though nothing happened.

"You never ate fish with me."

"I love fish."

"Miiiiiike!" a voice roared.

"One magnificent fish casserole coming up," Mike said as he headed towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry I can't chat, my sous chef is calling me. Owner or not, she gets cranky when I leave her to fight the kitchen battle alone."

"We'll leave you to it," said Draco and he scanned the restaurant. "We'll be near the back."

When they sat down—and Theo had the nerve to sit on the same table! Draco's hand brushed against hers.

"You said you had something important to say," said Draco, wondering if he should wake the sleeping tiger. _Oh, hell with it,_ he thought_. If we're going to get anywhere, we'll have to talk about it some time._ "Pansy told me something the other day… that you're seeing Nott. Is this something you should tell me about? I mean," he lowered his voice, "We _just_ started whatever this is… but I'm going to expect exclusivity if we're going to be anything other than what we've previously agreed to."

And of course, for a flair of dramatics Pansy at deliberately imparted the wrong information. "If you're asking whether I'm dating him… no I'm not. But…" she took a deep breath. Here was a line she drew for herself in the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts. Tears threatened to spill and her throat grew tighter at the memory, so distant it seemed like a tracing of a pencil compared to the consuming darkness at the beginning. She was having more trouble than she thought she would.

Draco shifted in his chair, sensing the emotions playing out on Astoria's face and clearing out his throat. "I'll tell you a story first," he offered. He would share something with her he never told anyone before; Blaise and Pansy who stuck by him witnessed it, and understood but he had never articulated this story to a living soul until now… he wasn't trying to be manipulative or anything, it was just a token to show how much he trusted her. "And then see if you can tell me about Nott after it."

"About three years after my father passed away, I started having dreams," he began, "and these dreams—no I don't think I can call them dreams—they were memories. They scared me so much, throughout the whole Death Eater trials… I thought I was innocent, and my mother had cast the Imperius curse on me. But I'm not sure… I'm not sure it's just my guilty conscience playing with my head, or if it's the _truth_. B-But, I think—I think all the crimes I've committed were done by me… willingly, voluntarily… under free will."

Astoria grabbed his wrist tightly, suddenly feeling a whole lot less afraid for herself and Draco's pulse pounded against the tip of her fingers. "N-No… they're just your head playing tricks on you," she said. And she took a deep breath. "Sometimes… _sometimes_… when you go through a traumatic experience, even after it's been years you can see things, hear things which haven't happened before—doesn't exist—that's just how we are."

Draco frowned, shaking his head. "It's different, Astoria. I just have this gut feeling."

"I know it feels real," Astoria cut in, "And it might be something so familiar, you've never really tried letting go because… but deep down you know it's not real. Like, like, I…" her voice faltered and she looked Draco right in his eyes, drawing herself up. She could do this. One step closer across that line; reconnecting with people—Draco: it began here. "When Pansy said I was seeing Nott, she meant that I _see_ him. Not as a ghost or anything, but like he's always beside me and I can hear him... he talks to me."

"The truth is out! I wonder what's he's going to do now. If he's anything like he was in Hogwarts, he'll hold this over you," Theo said, shaking his head.

Astoria turned and glared at Theo, never letting go of Draco's hand. He nodded once, then twice, as though his brain was processing the knowledge and wondering what to do with it. "He's here, sitting next to us right now, isn't he?" He placed a hand on the wooden empty chair next to him and shook it with a hand.

"He's not actually there—," Astoria said, as Theo pretended to be rattled along with the chair. "No one has seen him for the last six years and he's been presumed dead for four. He's not here; he's not anywhere. I _know_ that."

"My dear Astoria, you can't know something that isn't the truth."

"I think I'll miss missing you a little less each time you show up like this," Astoria said to Theo.

"What did he say? Is he trying to flirt with you?" asked Draco, somewhat aghast. He looked at the chair beside him.

"That's it?"

"That's what," asked Draco.

"That's all you have to say; whether this imaginary person I see flirts with me?"

"Well…" Draco shrugged. "I guess?" Pansy would be sorely disappointed in the lack of reaction from Draco. No shock, no heaving, no tears. "I mean, I prefer it would be great if Nott did know that since I'm here now for you, if he had a chance now, he'd be like number forty. I mean I'm arrogant enough to believe it's all because I'm here. I'm going to fill whatever empty hole is in your heart. Someone who's not there, who's a figment of her imagination can't compete with someone who's living, breathing and by your side" –and as an aside almost as though he were speaking to Nott, he added– "The queue starts over there. Get in line."

"So you don't mind? That you're seeing a somewhat batty girl?"

"Well, that's not really the point is it? You can't choose the parts of someone you like… to date, and if it's you well…" he looked away embarrassed to even admit this aloud. Where did his nastiness go? He'd become a puppy. A real puppy. He'd grow floppy ears and a tail real soon. "It's worth it."

Astoria had imagined the conversation taking a different direction; she'd expect Draco to act distantly, like how you treated people you only cared to use, but instead… "I guess you're used to being with people slightly touched in the head with deviousness or brilliance or otherwise. Pansy? Hermione Granger? Both of them in the same week? No wonder why you're taking the news so calmly."

"You've just named the two banes of my existence, and for your information I feel like I might combust into flames every day."

The anvil looming over her head disappeared, and Astoria no longer felt alone, as though she was separated from the outside world by a glass wall. For the first time in what felt like years, she was having a conversation, a real conversation and it felt good. "Well your information, I'm not dating anyone else. In fact, I don't see anyone any at all. In the platonic and romantic sense. Theo's been keeping them away."

_I know I might not have meant it when I told you to leave me alone the other thousands of times_, she thought and Theo snorted at this— _but this time I do mean it. And to show you…_

"Oh, please don't make me watch you snog him again. That was scarring for my soul," said Theo, pulling at his hair. "You know that only makes me go for a little while. Whatever you do, I always come back. You know I do."

"You really don't care that I see someone who's not there?"

"If you're asking whether it bothers me, I can't say no," he said. "But it's not like this changes much. As I said before…" He snorted at the memory. "You won't believe this, but Pansy once said no one in their right mind would choose to date me. I guess it's true." Draco pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. Theo made hurling noises in the corner.

"Thank you," she said, her voice wobbling from the warm-feeling inside her. _We had a good run, Theo, but it's time for me to move on. To show I'm serious, I want you to see, witness this._ "I know it's a bit too early to suggest this, but how do you feel about throwing away the whole number two thing between us."

"You're saying…"

"I'm saying," said Astoria, taking a deep breath. "I think we have to admit we're more than interested in each other… how do you feel about actually dating… for real… if we haven't already been doing that today already."

Astoria held her breath as she watched a range of emotions flicker through Draco's eyes. Shock. Panic. Then he smirked. "I couldn't have said it better myself." He squeezed her hand and turned his head to the side. "See that, Nott?"

Astoria never considered herself an emotional person, but tears began to roll down her cheeks and her vision started to blur. She looked at Theo; he was in his Hogwarts uniform, his curly hair clipped short, cut in the latest fashion six years back, and he gave her a half-hearted wave and crooked smile which had always melted her. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek as a farewell. When she blinked and her vision cleared, all she could see was an empty chair.

That was the last time she saw the imaginary Theodore Nott.

And so despite Astoria and Draco's unconventional start to their first real date—much too heavy and topic covered much too dark for a getting-to-know-one-another kind of affair—it progressed the way a lot of good dates went – with good food and company. They forgave each other for awkward dead-end replies, flirted and teased, and at the end of it Draco felt he was just starting to learn about Astoria.

Yet he never forgot their relationship started in a way a lot of romances didn't. She had very recently let go of her missing boyfriend. And Draco's affections concentrated on a woman he so incorrectly placed on a pedestal for half a decade had no so long ago, crumbled.

After the date the man who gave gaudy roses felt lonely returning back to his apartment. His heart was beating fast, and he couldn't calm down. Draco went through the correct motions of reading: sitting on the couch, running his eyes across the lines of words, flipping the page when he was at the bottom, but he wasn't taking anything in. Draco gave up on 'reading' and threw his book across the room.

Moonlight filtered through his window. He couldn't stop smiling. He paced around his living room, chuckling to himself.

"This won't do," he said, shaking his head and beaming at the moon. He grabbed his coat and a handful of Floo Powder. "I need to become normal again."

_Poof!_ He disappeared from his apartment in a burst of flames.

* * *

**(2200h)**

Hermione scrubbed her face; there had been no tears, but she felt awful. It was late, and though for security reasons the lights were still on, she couldn't see anybody. She climbed out of the fireplace and pressed the button for the elevator, it opened and she stepped in, her head down and staring at her shoes.

"Wait for me!" A voice piped up and Hermione looked up.

Draco. It looked as though someone had sewn a clumsy and ridiculous expression on his face. That or his facial muscles weren't used to being used this way.

"Good evening, Granger," he said, humming to a tune in his head. He pressed for their floor and tapped his feet to his imaginary song.

She didn't have the energy to respond and turned away from him so he wouldn't see (and mock) her obvious signs of distress.

_Ding!_ The elevator door opened and Draco skipped to his desk with Hermione slinking at his heels.

"What the—"

"Artie!"

"What are you doing here?"

Beside the intern, a paper tower loomed over his head and he smiled. "There's still quite of work left so I decided to stay until I finished them."

"I planned to come in because I had nothing better to do," said Draco, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at his uncharacteristic cheerful lilt in his answer. "Let me help you with that!"

Hermione cleared her throat, hoping her words wouldn't come out as squawks. "I-I needed to clear my head. This is perfect." She headed over to the desk and grabbed her pen. Writing utensils poised and ready for some serious action.

"Um, guys. That'd be awesome," said Artie. "But can you two promise not to fight? I can't handle—I mean, I'd appreciate some peace."

"Of course," chirped Draco, still high on endorphins. He gave her a bright smile. Everything was la vie en rose. "Let's get along, Granger."

Hermione nodded, shocked by his sincere demeanour, but gave him her best smile. "Yes, let's." She would let go of their little Elevator Incident for now. She needed kindness in the wake of all the confusion she'd felt in today. A sense of normalcy and comity was good.

Draco drew up a table and assigned several tasks and reports for them to do (so that way, there'd be no double-ups, ingenious!) and gave her another smile. "Let's do it then."

As Artie read through a file, he shot a glance at Hermione. She seemed awfully silent. Draco looked as though he was high on something. He shook his head and decided not to question their strange behaviour and be thankful.

"Hey, Granger," said Draco, putting down his pen. "I might need a little bit of your skills for the Ackerly case."

"Hm?" she asked, leaning back so the front two legs of her chair swung up. "What is it?"

"I've got a conditional green-light from Pucey assuming I get a nod from Prewett for this little plan of mine."

"And that is?"

"The Founder's Party. We're in charge of planning it and I want it on a cruise ship. Can get Prewett to say yes? We'll be killing two birds with one stone if he does."

"What's that got to do with the Ackerly case?" Artie asked Draco.

"We'll need an event to bring all the relevant actors on stage."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, and she glanced at him warily. "This reeks of ulterior motives." Which they were infamous for, and never told anyone because they would get in so much trouble for them. But it made things efficient. "Does it have anything to do with Melinda Tipping saying she'll identify the Ackerly twins for a price? I thought she was joking about the two million galleons,"

"Yes, and no, she wasn't joking about the money. I checked into her background, and she seems to be owing two million galleons because of bad investments."

Artie whistled. "That's insane."

"Yeah, how do you manage to lose that much money in one go?" Hermione sat bolt upright, shaking her head – though her eyes were bright..

"No, I meant accepting her offer! Hermione, how is this okay with you? And what does it have to do with having a party?"

Draco smiled and winked at them, and excitement rippling through his system like an electric current. "You'll see."

* * *

**Hope you liked this new chapter! And on a completely unrelated side note, I have to announce/brag that for my 21st I will be having a Harry Potter themed party with my best friend whoot whoot.**


	13. Chapter Twelve: Founders' Day

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Twelve: Founders' Day

Astoria's presence coloured Draco's life in a rose-tint during the next week, and everything seemed new to him, even though he knew on an intrinsic level nothing much had changed. Yet, when the two of them were together in public, they acted in a way no one could deny a steady romance was blossoming. Perhaps it was the change in Draco's smile, for he smiled wider than he did after he had been declared innocent of his alleged Death Eater crimes.

Before, he was in a relationship – or a semblance of a relationship- with a girl who would never responded to his affections. It was a relationship where he had to keep his feelings discreet - so as to not bother her, but now he could freely express whatever he wished. With a person to respond and enjoy his feelings, the mysteries which had pressed against his mind like a constant craving abated, and he was content with just _living_. And it came to his notice, a great deal of his life was spent in the fine company of Pansy, Blaise, and Astoria, or maybe it was because he only had those three friends.

Pansy held her back straight and coughed to draw the men's attention because she liked being in the company of men, especially when they fought over her. Just the mere thought made her cackle in her sleep. But the conversation taking place had started to dull, for Draco and Astoria had turned to a topic Pansy had little interest in (it wasn't about her of course…).

"Ew, why would you want to know how to tell the difference between the Patil twins?" Pansy wrinkled her nose, deciding the best way to change the topic was to interject and cast her disapproval. She waved her dinner fork at Draco before stabbing it into her slab of steak.

"His job, Pansy, didn't you hear?" said Astoria.

"Who cares about the twins?" Pansy sighed, shaking her head. "I'm more interested in the party your company is planning, Draco."

"Yes, yes, we'll talk about that later," Draco chastised, and he waved her off, trying to stay on topic. "But back to my question first. How would you do it?"

"I still don't understand why you're asking me this."

"You rarely understand things, m'dear." Draco smiled at her.

"Oh, bite me." Pansy slapped Draco away before he could grab hold of her arm and Merlin forbid, bite her.

"Please?"he wheedled.

Pansy tapped her finger on her chin. "Parvarti dresses better and Padma's quieter?"

"What did I miss?" asked Blaise. He had slipped out from their private booth to flirt and… "She turned around and GAH! I almost spilled my drink."

"Draco's coming out of the closet," said Pansy with a straight face.

Blaise grinned. "Always knew you fancied me. I was half convinced that was the reason why you went after Granger. You know, so you can keep the whole theme of unfulfilled desires running."

"I like that he's devoted," Astoria quipped.

Draco groaned. "Don't remind me. I wasted three years of my life."

"Ahem." Pansy whacked Blaise on the shoulder. "He wants to know how to tell the Patil twins apart and he says it's for work, I kid you not."

"Oh, that's easy!"

"Really?"

Blaise held up his hands in front of him. "Tits. Padma's—"

Draco sighed. No way he could compare breast sizes with the Ackerly twins.

Blaise shrugged at his blond friend. "You know what dear ol' Pansy says, tits never lie."

"It's _shoes_, you prat!"

"Ow," cried Blaise as Pansy him over the bead with her purse for defiling her golden phrase. "Shit, Pansy, what do you carry in that bag of yours? Bricks?"

"It's a purse with my immediate necessaries," she replied.

Draco sipped his drink and sighed. _Guess, Plan A's the only plan_. He sure as hell hoped Melinda could tell the difference between them.

"So the party, it's going to be on Founder's Day," Draco began as he kept the end of his bargain, and allowed Pansy to take charge and change the topic to her favourite subjects: herself and parties. That was how their friendship worked, a bit of giving and taking.

* * *

**(At the same time)**

When one spoke of giving and taking, Hermione and Ron had to come to mind: Ron gave Hermione space, and she took it. That was also how their relationship worked.

"You're here," Ron said and then Hermione beamed at him. She'd 'taken time off' for two days and when she had come back home, he welcomed her with open arms; no questions asked. That was what she loved about Ron. He had absolute confidence in her knowing to do what was right and he just accepted her for whatever she did and it was nice.

"I'm back," Hermione announced, planting a quick kiss on Ron's lips on her tip-toes. The movement felt mechanical and awkward. Ron's eyes shifted and Hermione tried to give a small smile. The microwave beeped and the smell of "Mac 'n' Cheese' filled their humble abode.

"Glad you are." He finally said, and backed away to place two dishes onto the table.

You're the best," said Hermione, taking a beer out of the fridge for Ron and a bottle of juice herself. They were silent for a moment: _Should I bring it up? Or just let it be?_ The terror which made her to run was no longer present after she spent late nights working on the blue-files with her team. She would _not_ attribute it to anything but a momentary panic.

_(Even if it was denial and she knew it.)_

She would deal with whatever she thought _(was certain)_ it was later. After she finished her probation. Having made her decision, Hermione turned into the kitchen and tried to strike up a conversation. "This is new." She swung open the metal-mesh cage around their microwave.

"Yeah," Ron said, looking up from his cell-phone to what she was pointing at. He placed down his phone and said, "After the oven explosion, I decided to buy one of the cages to protect our microwave from reacting with our charms. We can do without an oven, but imagine our microwave disappearing… how would we eat? Good thing I saw Seamus the other day. Managed to rope us a discount."

"Hmm." Hermione nodded with approval. She pulled her char in and picked up her knife and fork, feeling as though she were on auto-pilot. A sense of listlessness filled her while they ate in complete silence during their meal, but she couldn't really tell if something was off, for it only took five spoonfuls before Ron and her plates were clean. Even the sauce hadn't escaped their hunger. Hermione grimaced. Her stomach felt as empty as her heart. Ron's face faded into an uneasy look and she tried to smile, but the part of her brain which sent messages to her muscles must have taken a day off, for her lips felt stiff and uncooperative.

This was awkward.

But luckily for her, and utterly contrived for Ron, they were saved by a text message. "It's from Ginny," Ron said, not even reading off the screen of his phone. "She says she's bored and has three tubs of ice-cream in her fridge, we _have_ to go over."

Hermione knew an escape route when she saw one. "Well we must oblige her!" Hermione slipped her arms through Ron's and they Apparated into the Potter's home.

Harry and Ginny greeted them with literal open arms, and Ron and Hermione flew into them for the comfort their friends offered. Compared to the silence of The Nest, the Potter's home glowed with chatter and smiles and Hermione and Ron spent a lovely time at the Potter's. Hermione laughed, snorted and giggled as everyone swapped stories on how their day had been, and their trip to the Potter's was enough to make her forget about her awkward dinner with Ron that night. Snuggled warm and cosy back at her home she realised, maybe it didn't _have_ to get better than this. Maybe this was bliss. It was always awkward when she Returned. She could learn to live with this.

After all, hadn't she done so in the last two years?

**(A few weeks later; Founder's Day)**

"I need to nip to the tailors to grab my suit," Artie said to Hermione. "I'm done with this by the way."

"And with that," Hermione said, scanning their desk area. "We're pretty much done for the day. Go now, Draco and I can take care with the smaller things. See you tonight."

Artie sighed in relief when Draco gave a small nod and waved him away. After their temporary truce, Draco and Hermione had remained professionally cool with each other and worked like machines. Each day was better than the day before, in a way. Productivity wasn't as high as it was pre-Mar Debacle, but at least there was some cohesion.

When Artie first started, the pair had taken him under their wing, and they were beasts ravishing cases and business-deals. Hermione was a shark. Draco was Porky-Pig (not that Artie would compare Draco to a pig in his face). 'J-Just do it!'—and if just doing something didn't cut it, he'd do it shrewder, harder and meaner. Now they were mellower versions of their past selves. Perhaps Artie had become desensitised to the working environment, but Draco seemed to have lost some of his drive in the past few weeks, whereas Hermione appeared preoccupied, even though she was there at work before he arrived and opted to stayed long after he left.

"See you tonight," said Artie, but Draco was too busy chuckling to himself as he read a message on his phone. Hermione on the other hand, sighed into her cup of coffee.

It was three in the afternoon on a public holiday, so when Artie left the building and made his way along the streets, he bumped shoulders with people dancing and whirling about. Banners of red, green, yellow and purple flapped in the wind; their colours were a stark contrast to the grey trees and melted snow slush. Founders' Day heralded the first day of spring and to commemorate the day Hogwarts opened, was a cause of celebration. Of course, the festive activities paid little heed to schooling and education. In true celebratory fashion, Founders' Day was dedicated to drinking and partying.

"Here you go, mate! Happy Founders' Day!" Somebody shoved a mug of butterbeer towards him— as it was still too early to bring out the spirited goods in this part of town—and it spilt all over his hand.

"Thanks," Artie murmured. The man watched him with anticipation. Artie sighed and threw his head back, downing the entire pint within seconds.

"Yeah!" The man slapped his back for his efforts and before Artie could escape someone handed him another cup. After three butterbeers, the happy fever was starting to catch onto Artie, and he whistled a tune, carrying an extra spring in his step towards the tailors.

Then it occurred to him it might've been a bad idea to leave his two superiors in an empty building, all by themselves.

* * *

Without Artie as their point of communication and mediator (Draco was a believer of hard-love and would rather die than tell Artie he might have a special talent in this field; not that it hadn't become plain after he resolved some of Hermione and Draco's arguments before they got out of hand), their professional façade faded into sharp words towards one another.

It had begun like this:

"Surely you're not planning to take Melinda's offer on two million galleons," Hermione said with her lips pursed. "How are you going to explain that in the paper work? Leave it out? That seems a bit underhanded don't you think?"

Draco couldn't stop his snort. "Underhanded?" He let the word hang in the air and cast her a pointed look which suggested she, of all people… were not _allowed _to say such things to him—"It is perfectly acceptable for P&amp;P to offer monetary compensation for services in the case."

"And you're going to explain giving two million galleons is justified," Hermione shot back.

"Well _obviously_ the whole amount won't be coming from P&amp;P. Tsk tsk, Granger," he said, and with an extra dose of venom in his voice he added: "I'd have thought you would know better."

Hermione could feel hot anger coursing through her veins. "Using personal resources is _cheating_!" she said, unwilling to entertain the possibility of losing because he was in a better financial position to offer bribery than she was.

"That's just how it is, Granger."

The conversation ended there, for a while, but only because Hermione had moved to Artie's table, and she had bent down from the chair to turn on their team's computer. Draco frowned as he watched Hermione click and type several characters, puzzled at the fact he won with such a terrible comeback, and confused by her strange reaction towards it. _It's so unlike her to concede defeat like this…_

Tap. Tap. Tap. The blue light from the monitor lit up Hermione's face as she frowned. "Aha! You are planning something! How are you going to come up with that amount of money? You only have 7422 galleons in your account right now, the rest is locked up in investment—"

"What the fuck, Granger! Did you just look up my financial details? How did you do that?"

"That's what happens you don't log out of your account," Hermione said as a matter of fact. It was unlike Draco to be so sloppy with things like these, but she supposed having no concept of the Internet until a few years ago, and having learn new technology meant slip-ups were more than likely to occur. "Consider your lesson learnt."

"Get off my account now!"

Hermione shrugged and obliged, feeling she _might_ just have stepped over the line there, but even with that, despite her persistent questions and her top-of-class ability to read people, she got nothing more out of Draco. She could, however, rule out Draco borrowing money from his wealthy friends. He was someone to bend and slip around rules, but not one to do so with his pride.

* * *

**(That night)**

"You know how I feel about heights."

"You'll be fine, I'll be right behind you."

Hermione picked up her silver dress and hiked it over her knees as Ron put his arms around her waist and her heels made a clinking sound as she climbed onto iron railings. She leaned into Ron's chest.

"Does it feel like you're flying?" he murmured into her hair.

All she could feel was the icy wind blowing through her dress. The hairdo which had taken her over an hour to fix was by now, beyond repair. The boat hit a large wave and sea spray splashed all over her face as though a glacier had spat at her with frosty vengeance. _Whoever had decided to add the scene in the movie couldn't have possibly known how couples he had condemned in the process…_ She was going to tell Ron this when—

Hermione turned her head to see Draco scowling at the pair in an iconic pose. He turned on his heel and made his way back down onto the top deck. _And what is the plan?_ Hermione abandoned her position and bounded after him as he disappeared into the ship. Ron followed behind Hermione, albeit at a normal walking pace; he quite enjoyed being on the deck of the ship.

A doorman in a red coat, complete with golden buttons and buckles opened double doors and Ron stepped into the ball room. A grandfather clock by the entrance toiled as he entered and he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the influx of light as it had been dark outside. He saw a woman stood beside Hermione and Draco, preening in a china-red gown. Hermione caught sight of him and waved him over. "This way!"

Ron's attention had surrendered itself to the woman perched on Draco's arm, and he scowled at the blond man. Ron motioned Hermione towards him and stepped a few paces back from Draco and his partner. "Who's that?" he whispered, nodding over to Draco's date, unable to keep his eyes off her.

Hermione was more amused than upset at Ron's attention on the beautiful woman before them, and she grinned like she'd been let in on an enormous joke. "You've met her. Try and guess!"

"I don't think I've met her, I mean—" he said with a rush, "Her face is so distinctive." He hated himself for caring about another woman and for wanting to know. "She does look familiar. But I can't place where I've seen her before… Oh!" he said as he snapped his fingers.

"Who do you think she is?"

"Is she one of Fleur's cousins? She is, isn't she? I must've seen her at the wedding!"

"Weaselbee."

The woman beside him gave Ron a smile. Ron ignored Draco and offered the woman a handshake. "I'm Ron Weasley. What's your name? I believe we've met at Fleur's wedding. Bill's my brother, that is, if you couldn't tell." He patted his red hair. "Not that I'm saying you couldn't figure out my hair is red on your own—that would be stupid. I'm not saying you're stupid though."

Draco burst into laughter. To Ron's immense horror, the woman cackled along with him.

"He thinks you're part-Veela!"

_In his defence,_ thought Hermione_. Pansy's newly dyed blonde hair would confuse some people. And she does look stunning tonight._

"Freckle-face, it's me."

Ron looked as though someone had just dropped a spider's nest on his head. "Pansy Parkinson?"

"The one and only!"

"That's impossible," he cried. "No amount of magic could have fixed your face!"

"Who said anything about magic?"

"You!" Ron spluttered.

"Part-Veela!" hooted Pansy.

"Oh, Ron!" Unable to help herself, Hermione started laughing, even if it was at her boyfriend's expense and in front of people she despised. Ron's face turned redder than a sun burnt tomato but he soon saw the hilarity of the situation and began laughing along.

"Inconceivable!" said Ron through gasps of breath, holding his hands up in the air. He shook his head as though he had just been whacked hard over the head with a bat. "And with that awful mistake, I'm going to get myself a drink." He gave Hermione a small hug before he left their small party.

Pansy grabbed onto the crook of Draco's arm. "Where's Astoria?" Pansy asked. "If she dares to miss the party I took so long in planning…"

Draco smiled easily at the mention of her name. "She did take a bit of convincing, but ah…"

Hermione turned her head to the direction Draco and Pansy were looking in. She didn't remember ever bumping across Astoria in her school days; they were a few years apart after all. She was intrigued to find out just who had gotten Draco Malfoy to shout his proclamation of love in a very public place.

"She's here," said Draco, and Hermione turned her attention to the man as he spoke.

_Something... something's wrong with his face! _It was impossible for Hermione to describe the look of pure adoration on Draco's face, and to Hermione was used to Draco's grimaces, frowns and smirks, it was frankly scaring her. Hermione knew she could be poetic at times, and she could describe only describe the expression formed on his face as he watched Astoria walk towards them, as created by a deity, who had crumbled up stars and placed them into his eyes. Astoria wasn't doing a thing differently from the rest of the people in the room, and her outfit, unlike Pansy's was not attention-grabbing. Except, with every light step in her flowing dress, as she made her way alongside the wall, she was the one holding Draco's smile together.

More than the dress Astoria donned, more than her hair or her naturally beautiful features, it was Draco's reaction at seeing her which made Hermione feel as though she were staring at the most beautiful woman in the room.

"Hi there," Hermione said, almost shy, and Astoria graced her with a kind smile.

A smile was all Astoria could manage. For her, it was one of the strangest meetings. She was now face to face with someone who Draco had held in his highest regard. The discomfort between Draco and Hermione was plain to her. She flicked her eyes over to study Draco's face, who had caught her studying Hermione. His head gave the slightest tilt towards the brunette and his lips curled in disdain.

_Rather than being naturally angry at each other, it seems as if they're forcing themselves to hate each other, _she observed. There was something ridiculous in the way the two, who were convinced they hated each other, acted.

"Delighted to meet you," Astoria finally said to Hermione. "I've heard a bit about you."

Hermione shifted from one foot to the other. She wondered exactly what she heard! "I'm not that bad," she said.

"I know," Astoria replied carefully. Beside her, Draco and Pansy were nudging one another and were speaking in hushed whispers; their eyes surveying the numerous gambling tables before them and seemingly in an intense discussion.

"That's… good to know," she replied. Hermione did not miss Draco deliberately turning his back towards from her, and she scowled.

"Let's do it," he said to Pansy. "Time to start our plan."

Pansy cracked an evil grin, and they went in opposite directions. Draco to the bar; Pansy to the tables.

"What are they planning?"

"Draco didn't tell you?" Astoria asked.

"No…" Hermione said, "Anything I'm meant to know?"

"No. I suppose," Astoria said, and they began engaging in what could only be described as polite but uncomfortable conversation. There was obviously a tension (by the subject matter of Draco) hanging over their heads, and when Hermione and Astoria had ran out of pleasantries and safe topics both women smiled at each other, no better understood by one another than they had initially been. Such was the caveat of small talk.

"Enjoy the evening, Miss Granger," said Astoria. Hermione smiled back at her, wondering if it would be impolite if she took off her high heels and did a runner. Luckily, for Hermione, Astoria headed towards Blaise who had beckoned her towards the drinks table. This left Hermione alone, and she sighed, feeling slightly out of place. Harry and Ginny, both invited – along with past and current and prospective clientele – declined the invitation in lieu of spending the night at The Burrow where everyone but Ron and Hermione had gathered to have some quality family time. She would have gladly skipped out of the Founder's Day party if she had been allowed to. Spending it with family was much better than a cruise ship with drink bars, chandeliers, dance floors and gambling tables.

Though Hermione supposed it was an experience; she had envisioned gambling casinos to be silent and dark; a place with air redolent of smoke and cheap booze. Instead, slot machines made high-pitched squawks above the low buzz of chatter as gamblers took delicate sips from rainbow-coloured martinis at a bar which ran across the length of the floor. The hall was well lit, and near the bar stools were mini-stages, where people laughed and cheered as a variety of acts were performed on them… there she saw Draco and Neat-Jon laughing together. When Draco caught her gaze, he placed his legs over the last empty seat.

_Plunk!_ Across the room Pansy threw a handful of green chips from her black purse. Ron was now nowhere to be seen, so Hermione decided to watch Pansy play—hoping to pick up the game, purely for an educational perspective of course!

Blood-red nails slapped the side of the table as Pansy nagged at the player seated beside her to bet more. Everything about her was loud and attention-drawing. "Go big or go home!" she said as she arranged her green chips into small towers for easy counting.

Hermione gasped at the stash in front of Pansy. "Aren't those chips worth twenty-five galleons each?"

"They sure are."

_Money should be spent more sensibly!_ Feeling out of place but with nothing better to do, Hermione sat back to watch Pansy burn through her trust fund.

* * *

**(Across the room)**

The curtain on the stage a few meters from Draco's right started to rise and Neat-Jon clapped when a skimpily dressed woman wandered onto stage.

"Padding!" Neat-Jon nudged Draco with a stupid smile on his face and he burst out laughing when she began pulling swathes of cloth from her chest. A crowd, mainly of men, gathered around her. Draco's mood lightened at the sight of that. When he asked Pansy if she could re-do something like the Christmas Party last year, Pansy said she was going to organise something even bigger and better. He snorted and shook his head.

"Hm?"

"Just appreciating what Parkinson's done."

"She's good."

"Glad you like her."

"No," said Neat-Jon, pointing at the woman in front. "She's good at what she does. Watch."

Draco tilted his head and watched a volunteer go up onto the stage. The lady gave him a cage and he examined it. He gave a nod before sitting down again. Draco clapped along with everyone who was watching.

"Hocus pocus!" She waved the (obviously fake) wand in the air.

"No matter what generation, wizards enjoy taking the piss out of Muggles don't they?" Draco said, shaking his head. The woman pulled the cloth off the cage and there was a collective gasp. The bird was gone. Genuinely, intrigued, he leaned forward and pointed at the stage. "How did she do that?"

Neat-Jon gave an amused shrug and a wry grin. "Magic."

"She didn't have a wand on her and I'm pretty sure one of the people closer to the stage would have seen something. She couldn't have used a charm."

"That's Muggle Magic for you, turning something into nothing," Neat-Jon said, and he leaned forward, though Draco wasn't sure whether he was trying to figure out how the woman did it, or getting a better look at the woman herself.

The magician replaced the cloth onto the cage and repeated the first step, and she invited the crowd to chant the incarnation with her.

"Hocus Pocus!" came the crowd, even louder this time. With a grand flourish, she removed the cloth and the bird appeared again, in the cage, its wings beating against the bars.

"Impossible!" he stuttered, and the audience let a loud and burst into stunned applause. Performance over and successful, the woman bowed and paraded across the stage, soaking in all the admiration and awe.

Neat-Jon clapped so hard his hands turned white and only stopped his applause when she disappeared off the stage. "Muggle Magic takes away objects and then restores everything back the way it was. Beats normal magic, don't you think?"

"How did she do it?" Draco scratched his head in wonder. A technician hefted the cage up onto his shoulder and followed her out. _Maybe I could go backstage and check it out later on..._

"And that my friend, is the beauty of it. Magicians show you everything you're supposed to know, so if you can figure it out in time, you win. Otherwise…" he shrugged and gave Draco a smirk. "You're the fool."

* * *

**(Three martinis later)**

Three martinis later, Pansy was up twice of what Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes made in half of a good year. She yawned and she pushed a mountain of chips into the betting circle. The dealer, used to big bets by this time of the night, winked at her and wished her luck.

"You can do it, lovely lady!"

"You know if you kiss me, you're bound to get an incredible hand…"

Somewhere between Hermione's first and second martini, Pansy had built herself an audience and now a crowd surrounded her, urging her to bet and play on. Ron had met back up with Hermione, but was subsequently swept away in conversation with those still enthralled with his infamous recounts of the War. Hermione preferred not to be around when he talked about the past, for she wanted to dissociate herself from the War Heroine image which often worked against her during her handling of the cases at work.

Pansy who flourished under attention, gave a ditzy giggle when she won again. She pulled in the round's chips towards her chest. There were so many of them, she had stopped bothering to stack them.

Well on her way into the fourth martini, it came to Hermione, and in her rapidly declining state of sobriety, she had figured out Draco's Grand Plan. She'd been staring at it for the whole time. Gambling. Draco Malfoy was planning to raise funds by gambling.

Hermione gave a huge guffaw and a few people turned to look at her. "Unbelievable," she said as she moved away from the gambling tables, suddenly disgusted at the spectacle. On her way out, she spied Ron in the centre of a massive group. His animated expressions and the awed looks on people's faces meant the story had yet to finish.

There were a few people outside, mostly those like her, were starting to feel the effects of the night. When she saw the two people leaning against the ship railing were Artie and Martha, she went to greet them.

"Artie, we need to step up our game," she announced.

"Now? Unk. Kkkkkk." Artie slurred. His bowtie was loose and it hung on one side of his neck and he'd lost his jacket. In the morning he'd sincerely regret downing the extra shot because Ellen had egged him on. Said girlfriend had fallen asleep in his arms before she retired in one of the cabins.

"Artie! This is serious. It's not going to look good if we lose this case to _him_."

"Chill out," said Martha, downing her glass. She looked much more presentable by Artie, but she beamed at her in a way only alcohol could make you smile. "Draco's got a plan and you should trust him to come through. But why the hell aren't you part of it? I thought you two were like the Three Musketeers who came in a pair."

Artie snorted. "They had a huge falling out. Surprised you didn't notice." He made eyes at Martha. "It's all hush-hush, shhhhhhhhhh," said Artie. "But on the night they got demoted, they pushed the emergency button on the elevator and spent some time together alone."

Martha stage-whispered and stroked her imaginary beard. "Suspicious! The plot thickens."

"We're having a competition to see who can show get the results first, that's all." Hermione scowled. Her eyes narrowed and she decided it would be best to go back inside, for she remembered the expression on Draco's face just before she went out for fresh air. For someone who appeared to have been partying for the better portion of the night, Draco appeared to have done limited socialising with Astoria, who he would logically choose to spend the most time with, clients and networking or not … and the way he stretched out his leg across the chair (even though it was to deter her from joining him) and the tiredness of his face looked like he had been… working.

Curiosity plagued Hermione as she trailed back to Pansy's table, and her suspicions mounted when she saw Draco standing behind Pansy. Pansy, too busy flirting, did not notice Draco's presence and she blew kisses to everyone around her. She turned to the man on the right and batted her lashes. "I feel like something sugary but with heaps of _alcohol_. Be a dear and get me something, will you?"

_Maybe this is all an elaborate scheme to woo Pansy,_ Hermione pondered. That was why Astoria wasn't around and he chose to stick by Pansy. Come to think of it, the whole night he had always positioned himself in the line of Pansy's sight. It was so he could look at her, and she could look at him. And the drink; why else would Pansy ask one of her suitors to get her a drink if it weren't to flaunt her many suitors in front of his face? Pansy only had a few drinks, but each time she asked for one, Draco was near the table.

Now that she thought about it, it was obvious. Hermione gave a smug smile.

At least she was still attune to the inner workings to Draco's mind.

* * *

**And the plot thickens, dun dun dun.**

**Though I'm not completely satisfied with the chapter - in particular, the obscene length, here it is, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for all those who have favourited, followed and **_**reviewed**_**. Until next time!**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Who's Who

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Thirteen: Who's Who

Balance of probability is used in civil suits:

Suppose A is making a claim against B in a civil suit (not a criminal one!) against each other... They will both bring as much evidence/facts to convince the judge/mediator/adjudicator their claim (version of the story) is true. The judge looks at everything and decides what is the "truth", ie either A is or B's side of the story actually happened.

So for A to win, A needs to show with his evidence, on the balance of probability – that it is more likely than not (50%), his side of the story actually occurred.

** SO there is always a chance judge rules for A (bc he's 51% sure it's true), but then B's side (49%) of the story is actually the thing that took place?

…

(Draco Malfoy's notes, unedited, GENRL 102, Salem University, 2000)

* * *

"Sir, are you sure?" The dealer looked at the chips Draco had thrown in – two purple chips and a handful of black ones – to the pile in the middle of the table.

"No, actually," said Draco after a moment's pause, before he threw in an extra orange chip into the betting circle. "That's better."

Not believing her eyes, Hermione calculated the number of galleons Draco had placed in this single bet and let out a gasp. One purple chip could fix the broken fireplace at her house, or purchase an oven Ron had blown up a few weeks ago. She could buy anything with that sum. She grabbed Draco by his shoulder – whether they were friendly with each other or not, she refused to see money wasted like that. At the careless display of opulence that beheld her, she felt an unpleasant sensation clench her throat and it made it hard for her to breathe. "Do you know how much money is in there?"

"I'm well-versed in sums and figures, of course."

"You can't spend that much money!"

"Granger, you underestimate my ability to."

With that, the dealer handed out the cards to the players, and one by one, the players seated around the table revealed their hands on the green-felted table. By the Devil's luck, Draco won the round, and he gave a quick smirk for his fortune. The bald man who sat beside him scowled as Draco picked up his winnings, six hundred galleons in total. "Wished I placed more in the bet," he exclaimed to the man as he pulled his chips closer.

Sharp-eyed, and his expression in an impertinent grin, Draco listened to the clatter of the chips as it fell into his pile of earnings. He was boastful, but not untidy. As he sorted and arranged them by colour and then in stacks of ten, his eyes almost gleamed. Soon, he had a little city with towers of black, purple and green. The underside of his fingers trailed across the short hairs of the table's lining as he drew his hands to the edge of the table, ready for the next round.

Hermione feel sick watching the way gamblers played with their money, and a dull-throb, a twisting feeling in her stomach, pervaded her consciousness. What was worse, the drink, the heat in the room, and the general live-wire buzz around the ballroom left her disorientated. The sides of the rooms suddenly pressed down onto her. Her vision grew fuzzy, too bright, and every metallic canker of coins thrown into the pachinko-slot machines made her head ring, and she felt as though she were standing next to a toiling church bell. She turned away from the tables, and made her way out to the outside for quick reprieve.

On the ship deck, she bumped into one of the two blondes she didn't want to see. Melinda. A long jade pin secured the corkscrew curls piled up on her top of her head, and she wore a pink China dress. The moment the blonde saw her, she screwed up her face when she realised Hermione was approaching her. "Ew!" she called out as a greeting.

"Melinda. How nice to see you here."

"Well yes, I just showed up, and I'm supposed to keep out of sight until it's the right time," she said, crossing her arms around her. "Speaking of which, Draco-bear said he'd have the money to me by eleven."

_Draco-bear?_ Hermione shuddered as she imagined just how chummy the two of them would be, and wanted to end the unpleasant conversation right there, but curiosity prevailed; she wanted to know the plan, and how Melinda was going to tell the Ackerly twins apart. "You haven't seen either twins for the last few years?" she asked casually, hoping to glean some information from her.

"No, I haven't," Melinda replied. "Run in different circles, you see, but some faces, you never forget."

"And… yet you can tell them apart…" she trailed off, and she pursed her lips. It was possible, she supposed, but it did seem awfully convenient for her to be the _only_ person living on this planet to be able to do so. Hermione's fingers curled around the railing, which was slightly damp from the sea spray, and cool to touch against the flush of her skin.

Across from her, Melinda leaned her stomach against the railing, her body extending out into the open, above the roar of the waves flicking back and forth against the ship's side. "Yes, only me," she said.

_She had nice hair_, Hermione observed absently at the light and bouncy curlsthat she would kill for. Hers was still incredibly frizzy, even with magical help.

"Everyone else who could have possibly done so is either dead… or dead; the War didn't leave many of our year," Melinda said with a shrug. A second later, her forehead furrowed, and Melinda leaned back inside the ship, though her hands still clenched against the metal bar tightly. "Funnily enough, most of them kicked the bucket at the start, from the riots, rather than in the hands of the actual Death Eaters themselves."

Hermione kept her lips sealed tight, and her back painfully straight as she stood in silence. She _hated_ to talk about the War; the ever-looming presence of it, overhanging even the most festive occasions only showed how deeply it impacted the Wizarding community. She nodded at Melinda, realising just how alone she might have been, and felt a fleck of pity for the woman. Nearly everyone in Hermione's year had managed to come out unscathed – physically at least – and though many of the Order had died fighting for the cause, she couldn't bear to think if most her schoolmates failed to survive.

There was a story to everyone, and instead of the mean and rude arsonist Hermione thought Melinda was, she saw her as someone with her own story to tell.

"So… when did you first met the Ackerly twins?" Hermione asked, in a friendlier this time.

Melinda groaned and waved her hand as though there was a bad smell in the air. "Seriously?" she asked rhetorically. "You're going to feel sorry for me because of what's happened?"

_Or she is a rude person with a story she doesn't want to tell_, Hermione thought drolly. "I just thought we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to make amends."

"Well, I'm no one you should bother with. At any rate, this will be the last time you will ever see me. Draco will hand me the money in exactly thirty minutes, and I will tell him who's who. Now if you excuse me." Having said that, Melinda gave Hermione a smug look, and deemed the conversation over.

Hermione scoffed, an uncontrollable reflex to the incredulity of their situation, but having known Melinda better, she managed not to send her a glare and gave her a polite smile instead. Melinda pivoted on her heels, and her hair, which had been the object of Hermione's envy just moments before – it looked a bit like tape-worms squirming in a basket now. "I hope you have a nice night, too," she called out to her.

* * *

Feeling much more refreshed from her trip outside, Hermione decided to go back inside. She felt a rush of warm air race past her face and flicker through the ends of her dress as she crossed the threshold. For a moment, she looked around the room, and then headed towards the drinks bar, where Draco sat, taking a break presumably from his financial endeavours.

"You stopped playing?" Hermione asked him, sliding into a seat one chair away from him. Perhaps in her absence, he'd lost all his winnings and gone off to sulk. Draco gave her a distracted shrug, his hands positioned loosely around an empty tumbler, and his gaze on Pansy's sleeveless dress that plunged to dangerous lows. Across the room, Pansy pulled it up with one small movement, so discreet, no one but the pair would have noticed.

On cue, he stood up again, made his rounds twice around the room, and peered over Pansy's table before deciding to sit down again.

"What's he doing?" Hermione asked herself, and she watched with uninhibited curiosity as Draco shuttled himself back and forth between the drink bar and the gambling tables, his attention never straying too far from his blonde friend, accumulating chips with each journey. Within a half-hour more of this pattern, Draco had to opt for a second briefcase to hold the chips he won.

At ten minutes to eleven, Draco left the suitcase by Pansy's feet and gave her a light squeeze on her shoulder before he went to sit beside Neat-Jon on a table for two, in the corner of the room. A few tables away, Artie, Martha and Shabby-Jon, who struck up conversation during the course of the night, sat together, swaying to the light jazz music performed by a band.

Pansy announced her retirement and giggled as she scooped up her winnings into a briefcase five minutes later. She paused as Draco sauntered towards her, and stopped by her side, as he grabbed the briefcases from her hands and smiled at her fondly. Neat-Jon sat by himself at the tables, sipping his drink. With two briefcases in tow, the managers verified the chips and casted a charm to turn the tokens to galleons for Draco.

"Hermione," Pansy said a second after she sat beside the brunette, who now sported a bewildered look. _They. Had. Actually. Won. UNBELIVABLE— _Pansy dragged her feather boa across Hermione's neck and arms, and wiggled her hips at her. "Come to enjoy the show?"

"Granger, hear that?" Draco asked, placing a curved hand to his ears as he stood beside Pansy. "That's the sound of my complete and total victory." He slapped the two briefcases and pushed them towards Melinda, who too had joined their small party to collect her payment. "Here's your money and the receipt to ensure everything is in order. Now… as promised."

"Glad doing business with you," Melinda gave Draco a toothy smile, as she opened the briefcase to confirm the contents. Melinda took a deep breath. She nodded as she gripped the wine-glass, scraping the top of the bar-table as she stood up.

By now, the floor was sparse of its dancers, and she made her way towards the twins with undeterred speed, the liquid in her glass sloshing to-and fro, up and out onto her hand. Hermione's eyes went wide, and she placed her own drink down to watch the spectacle.

Melinda paused in front of a table.

She paused for a second.

Then.

Smashed the wine glass down onto Shabby-Jon's head. Glass exploded on impact and its fragments flew in all directions. Twin streams of red raced down Melinda's arms as the wine soaked all over the man's head. The liquid spiralled through the sculpted ropes of his dreadlocks, and blood gushed from his forehead cut by the glass. It mixed with the wine as it dripped down the front of his shirt.

"Yeooowh!" screeched Shabby-Jon, clutching his head, in horror. He jumped from his seat and losing his balance, his back slammed against the wall so hard the picture frames, hung alongside the length of the room, rattled in its hooks. In the background, Pansy spluttered with laughter as she sipped on her drink, watching the spectacle with undisguised amusement. Draco and Neat-Jon shared a dissociated, wide-eyed shock.

Martha gave a shout and jumped up to fend Melinda off. Artie reached for the napkins on the table to ebb the flow of blood on Shabby-Jon's head.

"BEN, burning your house down wasn't good enough. I told you, if you pulled a prank on me, I'd cut you!"

"That was years ago!"

The following happened in rapid succession. Security wrenched Melinda away from the cowering Ben, and dragged her from the tables. As they escorted her out of the ballroom, the spike of her heels dug into the floorboards, and they made long striations against the wax of the hardwood floor.

"You can't kick me out, I was invited!" she yelled, but lost her will to fight when Pansy winked at her and handed Melinda the two briefcases before the guards whisked her away.

And the case was over. Just like that?

"Should've guessed you would have brought Melinda into this. So that's why you insisted I stayed for a bit longer! I'm just glad she went after Ben and not me." The now identified Jon's eyes were still round as saucers, and frankly he looked relieved.

"No amount of magic's going to heal all that away without a scar by tomorrow morning," said Draco, gesturing the deep gash on Ben's forehead. "We won't be confused again."

"Was injuring someone was part of your plan?" asked Hermione, horrified at the prospect of this.

"He's a lover not a fighter," said Pansy, re-joining the rest of the group. "She was supposed to give the Judas Kiss!" She pouted because Melinda didn't use her part of the plan, and she held up a marker for Hermione to see. "Put this on anyone's skin and they'd have a mark there for the next three days."

"I did tell her to use enough force so a mark would be there for a day or more," said Draco.

"Guess she preferred a more flattering shade of blood-red on Ben," Pansy mused.

"Well, that's settled then," said Jon, stretching from his seat and looking very tired. "Tomorrow, at eleven?"

"Yes, I'll see you then." Jon shook Draco's hand and he left the gambling floor.

"Night!"

Draco and Pansy gave each other high-fives and a peal of laughter erupted from Pansy's lips for their marvellous plan had been executed to perfection, and together they headed out to the ship's corridors that lead its way into the first-class cabins. Hermione pursed her lips, and rushed over to Ben. She grabbed more napkins from the bar, and helped eased the flow of the blood on his forehead. She winced and concurred with Draco's assessment of the wound, wizards or not, he'd have a rather pink patch on his brow for days, even weeks to come. Fully sombre from the affair, she muttered a healing spell and staunched the blood promptly.

Ben looked at her with a glum expression – and Hermione's expression tightened further. She was sorry he'd been hurt, and the lack of explanation from Ben made her even more apologetic. "Don't worry," she said to him. "It's not over yet. If there is evidence to prove you're not Ben, then I will find it. In P&amp;P, we deliver our opinions on the balance of probability for civil cases. If we have insufficient evidence, or find conflicting evidence, we will choose to offer no opinion."

Ben thanked her quietly, and Hermione presumed he was still in shock. "You should get that checked out by a Healer. I only did a bit of first aid," she said, and she rose to her feet.

She deliberately ignored the murmur of the crowd who had gathered to watch Melinda's magnificent explosion, and pushed past them, before deciding to track down Pansy and Draco. She still had questions. She wanted answers. Charging out onto the ship deck, her high-heels rapped against the hard flooring. She stopped short at the start of a flight of stairs when she saw Draco plant a kiss on Pansy's forehead.

Pansy blushed and kissed Draco on the cheek. "Good night."

"Who needs luck when you have Pansy Parkinson?" he cheered.

Pansy cackled. "Go to bed. You get too nice and affectionate when you're sleepy."

"The count was 18+ for the first round! Imagine that! Pansy Parkinson, you're a marvel to behold." He blew a kiss to the night air, and he disappeared down the flight of stairs.

_Pansy is actually swooning! Ugh! Count?_ Hermione thought. _As in card counting?_ She softly gasped, and stepped out from behind the corner. Shadows criss-crossed her features as she lifted her hand, and reached forward to grab Pansy's arm.

"Ah!" Pansy yelled, startled from the sudden contact. Then when she saw who it was, she dropped her other hand, which was reaching to her side for her wand. Hermione pulled her hand back, and her fingers curled against the sleeve of her dress.

"It's you."

"It wasn't luck," said Hermione. "You two were _cheating_. No wonder why you made so much money!"

"We weren't cheating," said Pansy, righteousness shining in her eyes. "Did you think Draco would risk something illegal? He's not stupid, you know."

It did occur Draco promised Maurice Pucey not to break the rules again, and in the faintest of definitions, _did_ keep his word.

Pansy shrugged. "Card counting not illegal. I just calculated our odds and told him to bet when our chances were good."

Hermione was nothing if not doubtful. "How'd you do that?"

"With key phrases. For example, if I order a drink, the count's up by eighteen."

"Because the legal drinking age is eighteen," Hermione said, impressed and horrified with their money-making scheme at the same time. "But it's _impossible _to keep track of everything. What charm did you use? Surely using charms to help you is illegal. I would think there were wards against that. Something like the anti-cheating spell during our exams." Rather ingenious, and she could believe Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy could pull of something like that! "

Pansy caught the look in Hermione's eye and she laughed. "Hey, I'm flattered. You actually believe I can do maths?"

Hermione bit her lip, and nodded slightly. Though Hermione had bad impressions – to say the least – of the woman, she had didn't consider her as slow...

A scowl distorted Pansy's face and she felt the urge to justify some things to Hermione as though she had taken the woman's silence as denial. "I'm horrible at magic, but that doesn't mean I'm bad at everything else. I'm real good with numbers," Pansy confessed with a smirk. "What? Think Draco would tolerate being friends with a completely ditz?"

"Crabbe, Goyle," Hermione said helplessly, though she'd never intended to disagree with Pansy in the first place.

"They were henchmen, not friends." Pansy scoffed. "Get it right! Draco would never do befriend someone stupid."

_She's so defensive over Draco. _"Do you like Draco?" asked Hermione, for it appeared their conversations always led back to that one man, and it was getting a bit ridiculous, in her opinion.

"And that's what you call a busy-body! I don't like him _that_ way. I wonder why _you_ are so interested in Draco's love-life. Oh, wipe that look off your face. I'm not in denial. Pity is not associated with me. You should feel awe towards me and only that!" With that, Pansy stormed past her.

* * *

"Unbelievable," Hermione said to herself, as she made her way back to her cabin. "I must be drunk, hallucinating, _and _dreaming at the same time…"

"Hermione!" Ron called out when she opened the door to their room. "How did your plan go? Manage to find who's who?"

"Yes," she said with a pout. How she hated being left-out! "It's all resolved now, I suppose."

"I went to find you, but then I saw you talking to one of your clients. I thought you might need space, so I went downstairs to watch the comedy show instead. Hilarious I tell you. I wish you were there with me, but I knew you had to work."

Hermione pulled him into an embrace. "I was just a bit preoccupied." _Now that was an understatement,_ she thought, for Ron hadn't broached her thoughts often during the course of the night at all. A pang of guilt fluttered through her stomach and she sighed.

Ron tapped the tip of her nose. "As long as you're not mad."

"Mad at you?" Hermione asked, genuinely surprised. "For what?"

Ron gave a sheepish grin and hummed. "Well, for a moment I thought you might be mad at me for acting like a git. I know I sometimes get carried away talking about our adventures in our Hocrux hunt," he confessed. "I'unno, I know you don't like to speak much of it."

_Adventures… _"You didn't. We just deal with things differently," Hermione said with conviction and she pulled away from Ron as she changed the subject. "If you were in the casino floor five minutes ago, you would have saw something incredible"

"What happened?"

"Let's just say there was heaps of screeching and broken glass involved." Hermione's lips stretched into a smile as she shook her head. She had once said Ron had an emotional range of a teaspoon. Now he was more sensitive about these things than she was! When she realised this, she felt better for it.

* * *

**Happy Lunar New Year!**


	15. Chapter Fourteen: On Forgiveness

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Fourteen: On Forgiveness

Granger "Surveying the Grounds: Assessing the Efficacy of Key Administrative Changes" (2003, Unpublished Paper, Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry) 184 at 186.

Famed for revolutionising the Ministry, and for making amendments to pro-pureblood wizarding laws, Kingsley Shacklebolt's push to discontinue Azkaban prison and the transferral of its offenders into Nurmengard marked the turn of the millennium …

introduced an unprecedented era of rights to prisoners to ensure a minimum standard of living to all offenders…

* * *

Her investigation efforts – something ingenious she'd thought of when she had given up on using Melinda as a lead – had come through… albeit a few hours' late.

Timing in life was important. Catch the crest of a wave, and you ride smoothly to shore. Meet the wave as it crashes on you, and there will be trouble.

With Artie, she'd done some digging, and had come up with the marvellous idea of looking up Corwin Acklery's prison-visitor records. Though that investigation turned out mostly unfruitful, neither Jon nor Ben ever visited the late Ackerly in incarceration, Jon had sent a letter along with a care-package to his father just before the elderly man died. When Corwin Acklery passed away, the prison had kept his possessions in a box to return to his next of kin. Finally, under Hermione's persistent requests, she had the box.

The letter was now in her gloved hand.

It read:

_Though I have never visited you, please know that I am living well in the world._

_Jon _

Upon first glance, the contents proved nothing at best. However, it seemed clear to her – as a Muggle-born – that she could use this letter as an integral piece of evidence to solve the Acklery twin mystery. Here's to realising all her childhood fantasies she read in detective books! She searched the office floor, browsing through her own desk, and when she came up empty-handed, prowled through her colleagues' desks. Unfortunately, P&amp;P used pens and quills, so no one had pencil lead lying around. Hermione needed something as a substitute.

_This required a bit of creativity,_ she mused. _What's powdery and fine, like crushed graphite? _

Floo Powder.

Hermione rushed down the flight of emergency stairs, whistling a happy tune as the soles of her flats hit each step. When she reached the fireplace, she leaned forward, and grabbed some green powder from the fireplace. In her haste, small particles ran through the narrow spaces between her fingers and clung to her clothes. Cursing, but otherwise undeterred, Hermione bounded up the steps, and back to her work station, almost crashing into Draco, who'd just arrived with the stack of files pertaining to the Acklery case.

"What are you doing?" he asked her after he'd dropped the pile of folders onto his desk with a loud thud. As he did so, he sent Hermione an exasperated look, and pointed to the green powder that had stained her hands and clothes.

"Getting a secondary source of evidence… and real proof. How can we be sure Melinda's telling the truth; how do you know she can actually tell the difference between the twins?" she asked as she sprinkled the powder onto the letter with her left hand. She waved her wand with her right hand, in a swirling motion. Her magic created a small whirlwind, and the Floo powder turned into a mini-tornado, about an inch tall on the parchment. It ran across the entire page from side to side before it dissipated and the green powder settled once again on the sheet.

Draco's confusion intensified. "Right…" he said, trying to school his expression into one of curiosity sated, and he turned his back to Hermione and carried on his own work, trying not to peek over his shoulder. "I wrote up a magically binding contract then charmed then onto the briefcases: worded it very specifically too. I wrote "Melinda Tippings has to be able to actually tell the difference between the twins on the night of the Founders' Party, and give Draco Malfoy a name before she can touch the briefcases". Seeing as she did this no problem, I can trust that she knows how to tell them apart."

_Trust him to be an expert in drawing up no-lie contracts,_ she thought. _Though…_ They were only useful to a limited extent – the parties had to agree beforehand, limits to what could be done with them, correct wording was important; various charms needed to be cast in place… but would be effective in situations such as these.

After a moment's silence, Draco finally gave into his mounting curiosity. "Do I even want to know what you're doing?"

"Nothing much," she said, remembering that she and Draco were professionally cool, and weren't supposed to be chattering like colleagues. But… Fingerprints. That's what she was looking for. A collection of green prints showed up on the letter after she had dusted the letter with Floo powder, and she pointed to a fingerprint on the corner of the paper."If you use fine powder, you can lift fingerprints off a paper surface. Though of course, I augmented and enhanced the results with charms…"

"Huh." He couldn't help but be impressed, though he made sure to modify his tone so he came off as sarcastic. _Saint she was not,_ Draco readily admitted. _But creative she is._

"Huh indeed," she said rather pointedly. "Your whole gambling expedition didn't need to go ahead at all. All I had to do was to confirm the twin's identity with the document here, signed Jon."

"If anything, it'll just serve as confirmation. I got the results first."

"Or it might not!" Hermione compared the fingerprints on the letter with the sample fingerprints of the twins. She held the two sheets up against the light, and the whiff of smoke, wooden logs and charcoal from the fireplace caught in her throat. She studied the sample, comparing the narrow ridges and shapes of the prints. There.

She wished the results changed and Melinda was a lying wretch, but to her disappointment, the prints matched with Neat-Jon (or as she begrudgingly admitted, Jon). "The fingerprints confirm Melinda's identification," she said. "I guess the case's over then."

Half an hour later, they met the twins in the meeting room. From the look of Hermione's face, Ben knew she had not been able to procure evidence in favour of his side of the dispute. Despite the lack of evidence towards Ben's version of truth – and this inferred to Hermione, he was a liar and most likely had a deep-rooted psychologically problem as he had chosen to live as his twin for these number of years – she sat beside Ben, because it was not in her nature to abandon someone to their misery. On the other side of the table, however, Draco did not offer the same feelings, and he, along with Jon, wore matching smirks.

When Draco began giving the Acklery twins a run-down of their findings, and how they came to their conclusions – along with the official hard-copy P&amp;P opinion, just printed, on which twin they deemed to be Jon, Hermione grimaced at the undesirable conclusion and lowered her head self-consciously, her eyes down-cast.

"You've got to be kidding me! I'm Jon!" Ben roared when he heard the verdict. He clenched his fists, looking like he'd pull out his wand at any moment. "Melinda lied! She's helping Jon for some reason, she's lying! A damn liar! This must be Ben's elaborate scheme to take all my money!"

"We investigated, and these are our results," Hermione said slowly, trying to be truthful. Even if she had been 'representing' Jon, she would have sympathised with Ben. There was never a good way to break the news to a person that they had lost.

"Well the truth's the truth," said Draco. He handed out the bag with one set of identification documents which had casted a spell on it, so a slash on each document rendered it unusable. "This is yours."

Ben swore at Draco. Draco kept his expression neutral, but to Hermione who knew him better, his discomfort was easily discernible. He was afraid Ben would turn violent, as some claimants did when they heard something disagreeable to their ears. To be frank, Hermione had already drawn her wand under the table to stun Ben and alert security if the need arose.

"Now there's only one set of identification for Jon Ackerly. Which is here," said Draco, and he gestured to the file that he placed in front of the man beside him. "Ben Ackerly, here are the new identification forms for you. We have attached to each of the requests, our opinion of your true identity, so please don't even think about pulling something like this again."

"Nice doing business with you," said Jon loudly, and looked directly at his brother as he shook Draco's hand. He then gave Ben a dismissive wave.

"I am not Ben!"

"Look," Hermione said, "I'm sorry, but the evidence we gathered points to this."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?" Ben asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I was representing you," she said, "and believe me, I wanted you to be the real Jon… but the evidence before us tells us a different story."

"And we've ended this competition, so she stopped 'representing' you," Draco chimed in unhelpfully. "We need to make an unbiased judgement and all."

Jon sneered at his brother. "That's what you get when you try taking what's mine."

"You can still live your life the way it was," reasoned Draco, as he tried to placate the man, for he knew there was no advantage in angering Ben. "I don't think anything would change much… only you'll just sign your name as Ben instead of Jon."

"You know nothing!" spat Ben.

"Please," Hermione said in a hushed tone, feeling sorry for Ben. _How desperate he must've been to take his brother's identity! What has he got to hide? _But those questions would never be answered. He was client, and relationships with the Ackerly brothers would go this far and no further. In the folds of her robes, her fingers had started to become slick with sweat, for she'd been gripping her wand tightly, and with each passing moment it seemed like she would have to use it after all.

"If you sign here and here," Draco said, pointing to empty spaces for Jon to sign a few documents, stating he was satisfied with their care and considered cased closed by "Jon Acklery", the person who hired them. Draco shook hands with Jon again as per decorum to conclude the case. Jon extended his hand to Hermione, and she shook it half-heartedly, still worried about Ben's predicament.

"Thank you for your help. I guess the truth always reveals itself in the end," he said. Hermione gave him a better smile – now that Draco was no longer representing him, he didn't seem all _that_ bad, (though still a bit sleazy in her honest opinion) and traded pleasantries with him.

Seeing there were no supporters in the room, and there was nothing he could do prove his version of events true, Ben stormed past the two of them by the door, down the multiple flight of stairs – for he was not as interested, well adapted, nor versed in Muggle technology as his brother – yelling profanities all the way out of the building. As he exited the lobby, a woman with blonde corkscrew curls smashed into him accidentally on purpose on the way out.

Upstairs, Draco read the will to Jon Ackerly. Upon the identification with formal papers, the parchment glowed and the combination to the late Acklery's vault and vast fortune for Jon to see. He wept a tear form his eyes and kissed his fingers before looking up to the ceiling. "Thanks, dad."

Hermione and Draco looked at each other, and with a queer form of comradery, both resisted the urge to roll their eyes at his theatrics.

Jon shook hands with everyone once again, after he gained his rightful name and fortune for the last time. He thanked them for believing his story, signed more papers confirming Draco and Hermione had successfully safely read him his father's will. In spite of Draco and Hermione's insistence, he convinced there was no need to show him out, he could do that himself perfectly well, thank you very much.

Jon, whistling and in a jovial mood, alighted the elevator at the ground level. Martha at the reception, looked up when she hear a high-pitched squeal and grimaced when a woman in daisy-duke shorts and a well-suited man started snogging as they made their way out of the building. She recognised the two of them from the party and only grinned to herself, thinking they had met each other at the party and decided to date.

"Good riddance!" she yelled after them good-naturedly when they Apparated away. Jon and Melinda's next stop was Gringotts. Then to a tropical island, never to be heard from by the wider wizarding community again.

Upstairs, with the meeting over, Draco stretched in his desk chair and couldn't resist bragging to Hermione and Artie. "I guess I win then, huh?"

But instead of the deflated look on Hermione's face, she grinned, for was sure she was the winner in the end. "You know," she said, "I actually won this competition."

Draco snorted. "Dream on, Granger. I got the results first. Fair and square. You were too slow."

Hermione shook her head, and it wasn't a bluff or anything – she truly meant it. "Your little contract with Melinda doesn't guarantee that she was telling the truth."

A beat. Concern flicked over Draco's face and he swallowed. "What? Melinda _can_ tell the difference between the twins. We can be sure of that, because of the contract. She pointed out who was who on the night. You saw her do it."

"Yes, but her word is only as good as her contract," she answered, pleased Draco had been caught by surprise. "The contract was worded terribly. Far below your usual standards, I must say."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. In your contract, Melinda had to be able to tell the two of them apart…"

"Yes, yes," Draco said impatiently.

"And she had to "give a name" to you. That doesn't guarantee she'll tell you the right name," she said. When Draco's eyes grew in surprise, she poked out her tongue in impertinence, and continued, "For all _you_ know she could be lying. So I win."

"No," Draco said, quieter this time. "You don't win either, because something's wrong with how you identified Jon Ackerly, too."

A beat.

She shook her head. It couldn't be possible. "No, no. I got it right. Science is accurate. The letter Jon sent with his care-package to his dad confirms Melinda's identification."

"The test is only as good as the source of evidence," said Draco delicately, and he looked pained. "What kind of letter did you use?"

"There was a letter written just before the father passed away. A note from Jon sent to his father's prison."

"Which any of the two could have sent, with their fingerprints all over it!" Draco said. "That could have been a set up!"

"That's rather unlikely!" Hermione snapped, and Draco's expression tightened further. "It's not like whoever wrote the letter sent it on purpose, months in _advance_, to make sure we would find it. A far cry, don't you think?"

"It does seem like a lot of planning involved," Artie nodded.

"Like how _conveniently_ the Ackerly twin's old belongings were _all_ destroyed by a fire?" Draco asked, scowling.

"This is starting to sound like one of those conspiracy theories, where people don't actually believe we went to the moon," Artie quipped.

Hermione scoffed. "How's that supposed to prove your point? That's years in the making! Sounds far-fetched to me."

"Yeah," Artie said, pondering. "On the strength of the evidence, it's more probable than not the real Jon, the one we identified, sent the letter. I mean, what are the chances, Melinda lied, who we know bears a grudge against both Jon and Ben, _and _Ben sent a letter, pretending to Jon just before his father died? When you start to assume too many things, you can't trust _any _evidence."

Draco begrudgingly agreed, and Hermione nodded. She grabbed the water pitcher in front of her, her hands shaking slightly, poured herself a glass, and raised the cup to her lips, swallowing copious draughts of water.

"But Draco, why didn't you tell Hermione what you saw?" asked Artie.

He shrugged. "Remember, we weren't working together?"

"And Hermione…" he said, turning to the witch, "why didn't you say anything about the contract?"

"By that time it was too late. It's not like changing the wording of it would do anything," she said defensively.

"And lording over the fact that his evidence was flawed wasn't part of it?"

She frowned. "I admit that was some of it."

Artie gave them a look.

She put on a scowl and did a decent impersonation of Draco on a rainy day without coffee. "We didn't talk for days. So after that, I decided out of professional courtesy, I wouldn't speak to him either!"

"Oh, so you're saying this is my fault you forgot to impart critical infor—"

"Enough!" Artie jumped out of chair and blocked the door. Then he did something the two never expected: he out his wand and levelled it at the two of them.

"What are you doing?"

He paid no attention to Hermione. "This happened because you two _wouldn't _work together! When you're working against each other, you're just a dysfunctional mess! I am sick and tired of you two acting like kids!" he shouted, and flecks of spit flew from his mouth. "I tried to put up with it. But this is the final straw. You two screwed up big time." He waved his wand. Sharp metallic clinking sounds throughout the room like rapid gunfire.

Hermione and Draco ducked under table for cover by instinct. Blood rushed into Hermione's veins and she could feel her heartrate sky-rocket. "We just said, the case is solved. We're more certain than not we got the right twin!"

"Shut it," Artie said to her. "You both know if you knew your evidence was this shoddy you would have re-investigated the whole thing, or you wouldn't have written an opinion for Jon!"

"He's cracked," Draco said, his eyes wide with fright. "From the pressure most likely."

"It's because you always insult him! Now you've pushed him off the edge and—"

"I have locked every window of this place and I am going to stand guard outside this door. Until you have sorted things out, you will not be coming out."

"Artie—"

"No arguments! It might've worked out this time, though barely!"

"But the evidence is good enough—" protested Draco.

"Hermione, you better apologise to Draco for everything."

"Huh?" Draco stammered. But he bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

His wand still trained at the two crouching under the table, Artie continued: "Draco, you're being an ungrateful and selfish prick for not forgiving her."

Chagrined, Draco snapped. "She doesn't deserve forgiveness."

"Doesn't she?" countered Artie. "And why not?"

"Maybe because she stuck an inexperienced intern to shadow me or that she made me lose my job?"

"That's not even the reason you're angry, and you know it." Artie slammed the door in front of their face and heard the resounding click of the door lock.

"Well," she said with her eyebrows raised. In her shock she forgotten she wasn't supposed to be talking to Draco. "I did not expect that."

"So he does have a backbone after all."

Hermione promptly stood up from underneath the desk and shot a spell at the door. She gave a scoff of surprise, and started banging the door. "Artie, let me out!"

There was no reply from the other side.

Draco groaned as he sat on one of the meeting chairs, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. Sighing, Hermione pulled a chair out from the other side of the table. She sat cross-legged and with nothing better to do, stared at Draco. Discomfort turned to annoyance. No, he looked worse than someone inconvenienced. He looked furious.

"I'm not playing this game," he said simply, and he closed his eyes and folded his arms, unwilling to do anything close to reconciliation.

* * *

"_Neither am I"_, Hermione had snapped snippily at Draco when he'd declared his intentions, but half an hour into the lock-in, she was beginning to feel a sting – not a sharp pain, but something small, which repeatedly nettled at her conscience.

Utterly used to desperation during the War, Hermione hounded and thrived in faced-paced environments, and her "sink-or-swim" mentality often made it difficult to find time to reflect.

_You will never _have_ time for anything_, Draco's voice whispered in the back of his head, as she shifted in her chair, leaning forwards to grab another drink of water. _You'll have to _make_ time for it. _That, she knew full well. Too well. And something else too.

She saw something now, in the lull between finishing the Acklery case, and their next assignment: the one she went to for guidance, whose opinion she valued, was sitting in front of her, his deeply-hooded eyes closed to the world. It was painful, she realised, to lose that sort of friendship, and she absent-mindedly stared at Draco. Her hand, curled loose, against her glass, began its tapping against the surface.

Draco snapped out of his reverie, and when his vision drew back in focus, lifted his head up to look at Hermione. "What is it?" he asked, rather politely, and Hermione had been on enough stake-outs with him to know exactly what had happened. The first time Draco was like this—they had camped in a narrow corridor just outside a woman's door, for she refused to leave her house, and accept the delivery of a deed–he'd closed his eyes and gone silent until Hermione shook him awake. He'd explained long periods of motionlessness transported him to the time when he was under house-arrest.

Hermione watched as Draco played with his cuff links, trying to keep his bad memories at bay, and then he winced as his fiddling undid them. His open sleeve revealed a thin, pallid wrist – though he'd been always pale, it seemed thinner than before – no doubt he'd been affected by the stress at work to a certain extent, too.

She was not arrogant enough to disregard Artie's words. The toxicity of Draco and her relationship were bringing detrimental outcomes, not just on their work, but in their emotional state. For her sake, and Draco's too, she would end this.

Because, despite her ire towards him, and the whole ridiculous situation which brought about their fight, Hermione didn't hate Draco, and she was no longer angry. From the unspeakable Elevator Incident, to everything up and until the Ackerly case. Without the whirlwind of anger, and hate, came the acknowledgement of her inadequacy. Hermione didn't want to fix things because her perfectionist's streak refused to be tempered, she was doing it because she screwed up.

She knew exactly why, too. Hermione had a good memory, and the accusations Draco had yelled at her in the elevator were all quite relevant.

First, they couldn't go on as before. Before he had lashed out at her, his feelings, her wilful blindness to his oblique intentions… it had all been laid bare, like dirty things lost beneath a couch exposed when the furniture was finally moved. The stinging sensation, now lobbed over into a dull throbbing feeling of shame in her gut.

She looked down at the table, and braced both of her hands on its edge as she stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. In the silence, it sounded like a terrible scream.

"Would it make any difference to you if I said sorry?" Hermione asked, her expression full of brave nervousness.

Draco considered this for a while. An airy feeling rose in his chest, and the world stood still. In his eyes were drawn to each detail of Hermione: her face, eyes bright, and full of determination; her posture, back rod-straight with unruly hair spilling over her shoulders; and hands, behind her back as though to expose her lungs, heart, stomach and neck as an attempt to offer her vulnerability to him.

"Maybe it would," said Draco finally, deciding to see where this was going. "Would your being sorry involve me reading in the paper that you've and moved away to Denmark? That might change things."

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, without the air of defensiveness her previous apologies had been laced with. That made Draco break his glare.

However, despite his better than average week and the fact he was tired of being incompetent and efficient—the result of fighting with Hermione, he would not accept _that_ as an apology and just forgive her like that. There was too much between them. "No dice, Granger. When you get fired from this job, you should consider drafting confessionals. I've got the perfect business name for you already: Insincerity At Heart; it reflects your modus operandi."

Hermione sat back on her chair. She wasn't too upset at Draco rejecting her first apology, though her guts still churned inside of her like a washing machine, and she oddly didn't feel so bad in the moment. Maybe it was because she finally decided to do something about it. "I really am sorry," she replied. "I mean it."

He didn't reply. Just pressed his lips in a grim line, and looked at her. "Try again. You haven't made an apology I can accept yet."

"That's true," she conceded, and she took this reply as a good sign.

"Well, are you going to give me an A-grade apology?"

She took a deep breath then, because this was like pulling off a Band-Aid of a wound, and the wound was an old one, full of pus and maggots. "I'm sorry—for not telling you about Melinda. I messed up. I should have said something, and it did compromise the integrity of this case. I'm sorry for pretending certain affections were not there... and dealing with them improperly. Past affections, I meant," she corrected, recognising one of the reasons why their relationship had been only slightly less than amiable in the past week was due to Astoria's presence.

"Your apology was sincere, I'll give you that at least. But after what you did to me, I'm not sure I want to accept your apology," said Draco. When Hermione deflated and gave no reply, he sighed, palpably bothered by her dejection. "Why are you apologising now?"

Because Hermione felt so alone the way she existed now, with no one to support her in the way she needed it. But not just because of that. From the time she began talking to Draco, (out of sheer goodwill—a strange sense of compassion that Harry had later deduced as breaking the cycle of hatred) until now, where in return he had risked his job and his life to assist her stupid plans, she valued their good relationship over never being wrong.

She loved being right, but if it meant losing his friendship in exchange for never being corrected again, she didn't want it. "I… ruined everything, didn't I?" she asked him in a small voice.

Surprised, Draco answered rather truthfully: "No, not everything."

Draco pushed himself off his chair to walk around beside her, before finding himself next to her. "You can't claim credit for _all_ this mess," he said.

To say she ruined everything was to absolve him from all the fault—and he, he of all people knew he was not faultless. The nights he spent in his bed, passing between sleep and wakefulness in the past few weeks pointed to a feeling known so well to him: his good friend, Guilt.

It was the same friend who followed him after his family members (himself included) had wreaked havoc in the wizarding community and tortured, maimed and killed innocents for outdated and stupid reasons, and guilt only parted ways with him when Hermione had forgiven him.

He would forgive her.

The strangest thing about what he was doing now was the complete rationalisation to something so emotional. For Draco, he found and gave forgiveness to Hermione, because he remembered the humanity within her heart, and could no longer dismiss her as a living, breathing person who:

Despite their turbulent relationship:

a) Never brought up the time and the way he treated her at school; or

b) Never spoke about his role in the Death Eater's circle; or

c) Never spoke about the time he stood passively and watched her tortured;

To manoeuvre, exploit or engineer forgiveness for herself.

He'd forgive her as she forgave him. First in the quid pro quo sense (_though he'd never, never be able to make it up to her_), an act for an act. And secondly, in the _way_ she forgave him, wholly and entirely, to never bring up the wrongdoing again, no matter what wrongs would wreck their friendship – he could say that they had some semblance of the sort now – in the future.

"I forgive you," he said, "but not because of your apologies: those were shoddy. You need to practice at them, even if they sound sincere, they aren't polished, and didn't _really_ explain why you were sorry at all—you need help with that. But nevertheless, a substandard apology will make do." (_because I learnt how to dispense forgiveness from the best_).

"You forgive me," Hermione said, voice loud in her ears.

Draco nodded his head, and turned his face towards her to see the incredulity in her eyes, and to shock her even further: "I'm sorry about this case too. We handled it badly, and it was because we didn't talk to each other And…"

"Pinch me, I think I'm dreaming."

"Shut up, Granger, I'm trying to say something important here," he protested. Wheels churned in his brain and pieces clicked into place. He'd idolised her. Thought she was _divine_ because she forgave him. The media called her a saint and painted her as a woman who predominated her gender, eclipsed the rest of mankind with her grace.

And how many times had_ he _hated the media for exaggerating things about _him_?

Hermione too, was only a human. And she was allowed to make mistakes. He had expected of her not to make of an opportunity right in front of her. She wasn't like the media portrayed her to be and Draco should have known this. He shouldn't have felt betrayed when she felt short of her perfect image.

"Yes…?" Uncertainty tinged Hermione's voice, as if she didn't know whether this was all one big joke to goad her or not.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you, not just starting from the whole Mar debacle, but from we were in Hogwarts and even when we were in Salem and working together," he said with a rush, and out of sheer will power, stopped himself from burying his face into his hands to groan in discomfort.

Meanwhile, Hermione could not believe Draco Malfoy had forgiven her. The heavy burden of their resentment and problems fell off of her shoulders, and it felt as though a flare of magic in the air, within body re-ignited her spirit, because suddenly she was feeling much, much better. "I'll live," she said.

Draco shook his head, for he wasn't done conveying what he really wanted to say yet. "I may have treated you differently after Hogwarts, but I made the same mistake. I took what I heard about you to be true instead of bothering to actually getting to know you. To me, you were The Golden Girl, just like how the papers made you out. I didn't think they were exaggerating. I had this image that you were perfect."

Hermione fidgeted and looked down. Made of flesh and blood, her heart raced and her cheeks reddened by Draco's honest but lavish words.

"When you betrayed that image, I was angry the illusion I created myself had broken and took it out on you," he said. "And I'm sorry for it. And I hope, if it's possible, we could be friends, for real this time."

Hermione's eyes grew hot and she nodded furiously, as if her conviction could hasten the fulfilment of his suggestion. "I was too scared of losing," she confessed, and she gave a shrug, though such an expression of nonchalance only proved her admission to be anything but. "That's how I am, but that's not an excuse. I should have seen the risks and stopped. Nothing should be more important than staying safe. I can see how stupid that was, and even I know better now."

She watched Draco carefully, attempting to see how he'd react, but his poker face told her nothing. He took a long time to say what he wanted to say next. Finally, he replied: "So do I. I was infatuated with you, and I was trying to prove _something, _I'mnot even sure what it was now. At any rate, I should have known better… though I suppose it won't happen again."

Hermione felt as though someone had punched her in the solar plexus. She felt heat creeping up her cheeks, but merely said. "No I suppose there won't be a next time."

"What I'm trying to say is: I accept your apology, and might I add the last one was much better than your previous attempts… and I hope you accept mine too."

"I do forgive you," she said easily, and smiled down at her hands. "What can I say? I learn fast,"

Neither knew what else to say next, and with nothing to fill the silence, Draco shifted uncomfortably. There was too much sincerity in this conversation for his liking. Gray eyes met brown ones. "We're good?" he interrupted the quiet.

She nodded and smiled at him. "We're good."

Draco extended his hand to Hermione's. "You know what? You were right. Second chances do exist."

Hermione smiled and wrapped her hands around his and said: "I always am right. Haven't you read the Daily Prophet? 'Hermione Granger is godsend, a national treasure, perfect without fault'."

He shook his head with a wry grin. "I'll take that with a grain of salt." They looked at one another for a moment, and Draco looked away. Her gaze from him did not stray until a significantly lengthy time, for her thoughts seemed to have gone stalled... and rather silent.

He rapped on the door twice and Artie opened it, with a suspicious look on his face. The boy was learning: though he'd obviously had been hanging onto their every word, Draco and Hermione were experts at staging things, especially to make things go their way. But when he saw Hermione standing close to Draco and his arm on her shoulder, he beamed at them.

"We can do things properly this time, right?" Hermione asked Draco.

She wasn't talking about the work assignments. "Guess so," he said.

* * *

**Phew, this was hard for me to write, mainly because I don't do a lot of forgiving myself! **

**And for those looking for a laugh, please watch **_**Mitchell &amp; Webb - Conspiracy Theories**_** (it's up on youtube). The Acklery arc was semi-influenced by the video. **

**Thanks for all those who have given me some form of feedback; it is always much appreciated.**


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Wolf Like Me

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Fifteen: Wolf Like Me

* * *

Long ago, there was a girl named Astoria, fresh into Hogwarts and excited for the things to come. A year before that, she was absolutely convinced she would become the bride of one Draco Malfoy, for she was the prettiest of all purebloods and he was the most handsome of them all.

She quickly realised that was not to be. Without his father, Draco Malfoy was loud, obnoxious and his behaviour made his looks mean nothing to Astoria. Instead, she began to fall in love with Theodore Nott. He was clever, charming, honest and would do anything to bring a smile to her face. On rainy days in the corner of abandoned stairwells he would sing softly for her. When Astoria listened to his soft voice and saw him completely red-faced, unable to look at her, she knew there was something special about him.

She thought, for most of her year in Hogwarts subsequent, they would be together—until at the night of the Hogwarts battle. Astoria remembered the night clearly. As did most of the students trapped in battle could. Even after five years, she recalled the night was still but laced with the explosions and cries of the wounded.

And blood. The air reeked with the stench of blood.

* * *

**Fri 2130**

To: Astoria

From: Draco

.

.

Just wondering if you got home all right.

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

**Fri 2204**

To: Astoria

From: Draco

.

.

Don't know if you're not replying because you're already asleep. Text me in the morning. Good night.

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

**(On Friday at 9:15pm…)**

Astoria could have Floo'd or Apparated, but since she started dating Draco she had to watch her figure. She had two bowls of syrupy shaved ice on their date. Two whole bowls.

Since Draco had figured out how much she liked trying new places to dine, they were going out more often—which was either an effective strategy to guarantee a successful date or a passive-aggressive way to throw away her current wardrobe. Travelling to places without magical help no longer became a past-time, and more about necessity. She would not take Pansy's jeering too kindly if the woman decided to comment on the extra pounds Astoria gained.

Though the night dulled her vision, it honed her sense of smell and hearing. She inhaled the cold and wet winter air, and white tendrils of breath escaped her mouth. Astoria could hear faint howling of the wind—she could…Astoria stopped in her tracks. She should have Floo'd home. Perhaps the dim lighting of the street lamps was waking her imagination but shadows were stirring into silhouettes. Or perhaps, someone, _something_ was approaching her. Trying to keep her expression indifferent, she reached into her purse to touch her wand.

_Determination, destination, deliberation—_

She transported herself so spontaneously, she'd lost balance and fell onto her knees in the middle living room. The house was pitch-black as she'd forgotten to open the curtains before she left for work today. Astoria let out a sigh of relief.

"Tea, no, I need something stronger than that, maybe—" She reached behind her to turn on the lamp beside her couch and it lit up the room with a soft glow—"and AAAHHHHH!"

Astoria counted to ten under her breath. _Yup, still there._ "I thought we've made peace already. So why—" and she grimaced at the updated version of her imaginary Theo. In the few days she hadn't seen him, he had aged. No longer was a reminiscent of the awful, fateful night, this new Theo the same age as what he might've been, had he lived and he wore… "What are you wearing?" she asked him.

A thin smile stretched across his gaunt face. "I had only expected this question to come after 'what happened to your hair'."

_Merlin, did Draco put something in the shaved ice during dinner?_ Why else would _he_ have hair that reached his waist? It looked as though he hadn't cut it for years and years. "No never mind. You don't exist, you're not here. My imagination just had an update and made him even more insufferable than before."

"What?"

"You are dead, to me. To everyone." Astoria covered her ears and closed her eyes, turning away from the man. "I know you're not there, you're not there, you're not here!"

"Astoria, I..."

Wishing proved to be ineffective to banishing his existence and so she shot a glare at Theo. "I just don't understand why you'd come back _now_. I'm trying to be happy!"

Theo sat himself on the couch and he rested his elbows on his thighs. He took his time to speak, contemplating each word. "I know… and you have the right to be mad at me, but just know that my feelings for you haven't changed one bit. I still love you as I did."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "Because you hadn't disappeared and left me alone for all these years. Imagine me, having to see you every day! Oh, the horror." She hated arguing with him—herself. It was frustrating and usually when that happened it meant she would have to take a trip down to St Mungo.

"I wasn't expecting much," he said to her. "I know it's hard to accept that I'm back all a sudden. But I promise when you're ready to hear it, you'll have all the answers you want. And if you'll have me again, then,"—his voice broke—"that'd be all I ever wanted."

"You. Are. Dead. You. Don't. Exist!" Astoria spat each word with force and chanted this in her head again and again. Maybe if she said it enough, Theo would disappear again. She was with Draco now, and for the first time in years, she knew what was real and what wasn't, she felt happy, she felt—

"Sorry, I tried to think of a better way to do things but—"

"One more word from you and I'll hex you, except I wouldn't hurt _you_ as much as my couch." she said and inched away from Theo. She wasn't comfortable with this Theo; the old one never acknowledged That Night happened. Maybe it was because _she_ herself was finally coming to terms with it…

Theo couldn't help but smirk at what she said; she'd always made him laugh. "All right. But I need my wand. I had a feeling you might have kept it. You wouldn't have thrown it away."

Astoria's eyes grew wide and felt a gnawing sensation in her heart. "Why would _you _need a wand to disappear? You never needed one."

His eye's softened. "I had a person to help me disappear."

"Okay, there was definitely something in the shaved ice. This is getting creepy and you're way different than before. I can't be alone right now. Dammit Draco, I'm going over to hex him. This is not funny at all." She leaned forward to grab her purse and her hand knocked hard against Theo's knee. "Ouch!" she cried, rubbing her hand. "What the hell is your knee made of?"

Theo pulled her hand into his. "Funny you should ask, it's a combination of wood and metal. When I lost my leg, I had to get a new one."

His brown eyes gleamed in the soft light and Astoria noticed he had laced his fingers into hers. He was so close. She scooted closer to run her hands through his hair. Her fingers brushed past his temples, ears, neck and rested on his shoulders. Theo nuzzled her hand and kissed it. As his cold cheeks pressed against her palms, she _knew_ this was different to the other times. He could only be this cold if he had waited for her, outside, for a long time.

Astoria looped her arms around his neck. Brought his head close to hers until their foreheads touched. She closed her eyes and they stayed this way; they replenished themselves, got to know each other again with their hands, as one would trace their fingertips along a map to familiarise themselves with a route.

"You're real." There was no uncertainty in her statement, for no matter what she did, how hopeless she was after Theo had disappeared on the night of the Hogwart's battle, he never appeared to her in this manner. And the guilt, reproduced from her memories, was a pale imitation of his true self.

Because when Theo was next to her, the feelings were undeniable and inevitable. For a brief moment, she felt sorry for Draco but there was _never_—_never_ a choice.

Astoria pressed her lips onto his. She felt as though her heart swelled and burst. Theo deepened their kiss and she shuddered as he planted a trail of kisses down her neck. They got off the couch; Astoria's feet leading them to the next room. Theo's hip clipped the cabinet beside the door and the vase with a bouquet of gaudy roses tipped and smashed onto the floor.

In the morning, Theo didn't ask her what the buzzing noise from the small device was. When she'd woken up, Astoria had found him sitting on the window ledge with one leg bare, covered in skin. The other was made of wood and plastic. They had not exchanged a single word between them since last night.

But it was time.

Time for an explanation. Astoria's eyes strayed down to Theo's fake limb and blinked back the tears threatening to surface. He moved off the ledge and he sat beside her on the bed. "Do you remember what happened that night?"

"Of course, I do. We were running." She could picture the scene in her head. A cold and dark night, punctuated with explosions and screams of the dying. "Daphne, she suddenly fell behind us, was pulled behind a corner and I ran. Never looked back. When I stopped, you weren't there."

"And what did you know about Daphne's death?"

"Mother said a creature mauled her to death. Horrifically. It was so gruesome she didn't let me see her body. Some kind of beast had done her in. Oh Merlin." She placed her hands over her mouth as though she might be sick. "It took off your leg, didn't it?"

Theo nodded. "When I came to, the only reason why I knew I wasn't dead was because of the pain. And when I found out what happened to me, I didn't think I had a good chance of surviving. You see, a werewolf bit me."

"A werewolf?" Astoria repeated in dumb shock. "So you're… you're…"

"You knew how I was back at school. I couldn't accept being something inferior. Much less permit myself to associate with you again. That would've been unthinkable. I wanted to die. And I was going to, too—I couldn't live with myself. But someone was sympathetic to my plight and gave me a way out."

"A way out..."

"Have you ever heard of the nomadic tribes that had great affinity with animal familiars and spirits?"

"Yes." An uncomfortable feeling set within her stomach.

"_Someone who was sympathetic to my plight." _

She had a good idea who Someone was. She had a husband who was a rights activist in the indigenous magical population of Britain. He who fought on behalf of the people, had ultimately sacrificed his life for them…

"There is more than one soul living within each of us. Especially my kind. There is Dark and the Light." Theo raised his hands, miming scales. "To live is to understand these sides and let them play its part in our lives. So the head shaman bestowed onto me, a spell before my first transformation."

"A blessing or a curse?" Astoria asked.

"Depends on your perspective. You see, the shaman placed a spell on me so that I would be stuck in my werewolf transformation for more than one night of the full moon."

* * *

Sat 0833

To: Astoria

From: Draco

.

.

Are you all right?

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

"Magic is impartial. It neither favors nor disfavors. If you're supposed to spend six years of your life as a wolf, you will. There is no way around it. But here's the trick: instead of becoming a wolf once every full moon, you can spend it all in one go."

"There's the risk of death if you don't survive the curse, death if you die during your wolfish pursuits and the risk of never being able to regain your human form. Only those truly desperate would even consider it. And of course, a shaman has to risk their lives to exact the spell. You would need a blood debt. Yet, by a miracle, I bet the odds and came back."

"That's why I couldn't find you," said Astoria. "I spent Daphne's entire trust fund looking for you. Across Europe, China, Japan, America. The private investigators, they were looking for a boy, then a man. Oh Merlin."

The tribe owed her father their existence and his death extended a ghostly hand to his 'could've been' son-in-law.

"My mother should have told me," Astoria said. "I would have waited forever, waited for you to come back."

* * *

Sat 0901

To: Astoria

From: Draco

.

.

Sorry for all those messages, but I haven't heard back from you since last night. My gentleman conscience needs to know you're safe and you haven't been devoured by a big bad wolf or something.

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

"You know, having spent six years on the other spectrum of our beliefs, I think I've converted. I don't think I'm an inferior being anymore and I believe I'm entitled to love just like everybody else," Theo said conversationally, but he had planned his words with care. "I want to be with you. I can tell you still feel something for me."

"I do," Astoria admitted. "But it's easy to fall into old habits."

"A habit? You think what you're feeling is a force of habit?"

"Yes, no, maybe. I don't know." Astoria buried her face in her hands.

"You want some space," said Theo. "To clear your thoughts."

"Yes," she said. "Thank you."

That too was a habit. Astoria liked to think things through herself. He gave her space; and it was a consideration he never lent towards other people.

Theo got up to leave and just before he shut the front door behind him, she called out. "You forgot your cane."

"I know," he said, and he swung the door shut.

A few minutes later, she took his cane and placed it on the side of the entrance, so that the next time he came knocking, she could return it to him.

And before then, she would piece together, exactly what had happened, what _was_ happening, and what would happen in the future.

* * *

Sat 0956

To: Draco

From: Astoria

.

.

I'm fine. I need space.

-MESSAGE END-

* * *

**(A few days after Astoria makes her mind)**

"Here's your cane," Astoria said.

Theo leaned against the doorframe to the entrance of her apartment. "Thank you for keeping it safe. How can I repay you?"

"Well… if you put it that way, for old time's sake." _It's just talking, _Astoria berated herself. A harmless conversation. He'd just come back and probably had no one else to talk to. She owed their relationship that much.

"Thanks, my dear." He slipped through the doors and made his way to the living room.

"Would you like tea?" she asked. _Take things slow. Things change within five years. You've changed yourself. And... you should talk to Draco first._

"Yes please."

"Two sugars?"

"You remembered."

She made the tea and they sat on the couch, not too far, not too close, a viable distance away from each other. "Where are you living?" Astoria couldn't help ask.

"Around. I have gold to sustain me a while. I'm not too worried, I'm just lucky to be alive. To be able to see you here."

Astoria poured tea into separate cups and watched the steam rise and dissipate in the air.

"No one realised I've returned," he said after a long silence.

"It's the hair," she said. Her fingertips slid against his long tresses he'd secured into a ponytail and he raised an eyebrow. He'd always been rather sensitive about entrusting a stranger with a sharp object and leaving his head defenseless. Too many contingencies, he once told her, he couldn't let anyone near his head. And so she took it upon herself as his girlfriend to cut his hair.

"It doesn't look too bad, right?"

"No it doesn't," she said, spreading her fingers through his hair. "But it'd be hard to maintain. Tell you what, for old time's sake I'll cut it for you."

"I'm glad you offered. I spend too much on shampoo." Theo smiled.

"It'll take a minute," she said, as though she needed to convince _him_. "Let's go to the bathroom." She slipped her hand into Theo's and she waved her wand so a chair followed them in.

"How do you want it?" she asked, trying to maintain as professional as possible. But who was she kidding (_about going slow_); this was probably the second most intimate activity they shared.

"What's looking good these days?"

"You," she replied_. _"Something short." She bent down and reached under her sink to pull out a box.

"You kept the scissors for cutting hair," Theo said, shaking his hair out of its ponytail. "You always had a problem letting things go."

"It's working to your advantage."


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Of Boggarts and Gnomes

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Sixteen: Of Boggarts and Gnomes

* * *

Astoria, a girl who had lost her boyfriend through the most tragic circumstances…and now he was back. Was he? Astoria looked at the man in front of her, and admitted… it was _possible_ she was dreaming. _(__If this is a dream, let me stay in this dream.__)_ Theo never liked going outside, and kept largely to himself.

For someone who would back away when attention was drawn onto him in a group conversation, for him, it would be excruciating to explain where he had been for the last five years. So Astoria understood why he did not want to reappear in the Wizarding community in this country.

That was why Astoria did not tell Draco.

And that was why, somehow, through the natural flow of things, she continued to go on dates with Draco… Astoria knew she was probably two-timing.

_(Most definitely)_

* * *

Draco fought hard to keep his eyes open as a woman sung on stage. It wasn't that he was uninterested. It was much, much more than that; a rocket could travel into the abyss of his boredom for a thousand years without ever touching its limits. He'd rather be copying out a French dictionary word for word – maybe he'd be able to pick up vocabulary. The lady was singing was almost incomprehensible to him. Astoria on the other hand, looked entranced with the performance. When Draco once told a pretty white lie and said he was fond of musicals and plays. If only he knew how it would come back to haunt him.

_Thus three hours of entertainment_, he sighed inwardly.

Thankfully, and not a moment soon enough, the woman died (on stage of course), collapsing onto the ground. A male confessed to killing the woman he loved and the curtain fell, signalling the end of the play. Draco would've cheered out loud if the play were not one of tragedy, and social discourse hadn't prevented him from doing so.

As the actors ran across the stage to be individually congratulated, and Draco clapped wildly; this was the most attention he had paid to the play in the whole four acts.

"What did you think of it?" Astoria asked.

"It's different to what I normally do," he responded with truth this time (_and hoped, please please they would never do this again), _with a bedazzling smile that could launch a thousand ships into the sea. In return, she gave him a smile that would've made Draco fight a thousand ships at sea, trying not to feel disappointed in how apparent Draco's disinterest in her favourite show had been. She said nothing, but instead, held onto his arm as they descended down the flight of marble stairs.

Of course, holding his arm to steady herself was an excuse. Seven women in ballet flats would fall on their faces before Astoria so much stumbled in her six-inch suede. They floated down the staircase together, young, in love and incredibly rich—and… unnoticed. The tabloids and camera still considered them a beautiful couple, but their relationship was subdued, and lacked the passion, or fire required to grab head-liner attention after the first month.

It made sense, even to Astoria. Draco and she were doing nothing exceptional to warrant consideration. It was in its core, and endless cycle of entertainment, fine dining and drinks. Watch, eat, and drink. Rinse and repeat.

An hour, three courses and a bottle of red wine later, Draco patted his lips with his napkin and thanked the waiter as he took and replaced his plate with one which had a slice of brownie served with a scoop of ice-cream on the side.

"You know," Astoria said, picking up her spoon. "If you don't like the French opera, you don't have to lie to me."

"I had to make an effort," he said. "I know you've made compromises."

She nodded. Astoria looked down at her dessert, then let out a soft sigh. At this, Draco's brow furrowed and was scrunched in a tight frown. Between his hands rested a small espresso, warm and untouched. Above them, the soft chatter of the high-class restaurant filled the momentary silence across their table. The candle in the middle of the table flickered unsteadily, casting an incongruous gloom to the atmosphere – whether this was the product of the situation, or a dramatic failure to create ambience in the room, Draco was unsure. "Are you alright, Astoria?"

"Of course."

_Then why do you look so distracted?_ "Um, well… you seem a bit under the weather recently."

Astoria shrugged, and leaned back into her seat, popping a small piece of brownie in her mouth. "This is delicious," she said, deadpanned. Then: "Draco, all your ice-cream's going to melt."

Draco watched his ice cream swim. _Am I out of touch with dating?_ "Is there something you might want to tell me?" he asked her, watching her eyes move past him.

"Don't be silly."

"You can tell me anything, right? I mean… can you see Theo again? I mean, I'm your boyfriend, you should tell me these things. If you're seeing Theo again, you would tell me, right?"

Astoria pursed her lips, and shook her head though her guilty heart thundered. "Yes, I would tell you, if I saw Theo again, the illusion. I would. I'm just like this sometimes. Can we just finish the dessert and go home?"

_Or maybe it's a generation gap thing? _If it had been anyone he liked less, he'd have obliged. But because it was Astoria: "Can we talk about this?" he asked again.

"I don't want to."

"I think we should," he insisted again, though this time it was not because of his love for Astoria, but for the love he had for himself. Growing up in a world of unprincipled figures, dissimilation, and having the grounds of his belief irrevocably shaken, Draco feared ambivalence and at this moment, he cared more about the security of his own mind than Astoria's feelings.

Something was wrong. He knew it, and he would find out what it was even if it deducted more than a few brownie points from Astoria.

She glared at Draco and placed her dessert fork down beside the plate. "No, I don't want to discuss this tonight. Let's meet up tomorrow."

Alarm bells rang in his head, and from the back of the restaurant, there was a peal of laughter, and the tinkering of wine glasses one of the guests at the punch-line of an amusing joke. Draco considered his options, predicting how to manipulate the situation to suit him best. One micro-expression, and he could make Astoria guilty, but she could pretend she missed it. Grabbing her hand and refusing to let was disrespectful and really rude but Draco knew he pushed hard enough, she would erupt in anger and spill everything.

_If you want respect, treat people with respect, _Maurice Pucey had told him long ago.

It had been five short years since he'd renounced himself as the scion of the Malfoy-Black line, and Draco had never once used his manipulation skills intentionally since then. There were times he'd been tempted – times such as now – when it was so much _easier _to make things go his way. Even with no gift for divinity, he was damn certain his reactions would produce such results.

From across the table, Astoria frowned further, when Draco nearly slipped into an expression perfect for inducing sympathy, his tear ducts ready to spout hot, painful tears. "Draco, you should know already, I know exactly–"

There was a gentle, warm feeling pushing against his torso, at the apex of his ribs, and suddenly, the disapproval so well-acquainted with Hermione's frowns, eyes staring into the depths of his soul; Pansy's 'tch's, a loud hiss of her irritation personified; and Maurice Pucey's long, heavy sighs sent Draco's half-formed expression to drop from his face, and he hung his head low. "Tomorrow, then."

* * *

"So as I was saying," Harry said to Hermione and Ron. It was nice, just being with his best friends at a bar, sipping drinks. "Ginny has the most disgusting cravings ever. And I thought Ron with his hunger-pangs were bad." Ron made a face and punched his best friend on the shoulder.

"You said you liked the jelly, curry and whipped cream stew. And no, not separately, but all mixed into one dish," Hermione pointed out.

"Never fear because your sister has beaten you with her levels of grossness." Harry shook his head and there was a hint of pride in his voice for his wife. "Did you know some apothecaries sell baby Bang-End Scoots to eat?"

"You mean Blasted-End Skrewts?" Hermione corrected but sure hoped she was wrong.

Harry snapped his fingers. "Those things. You can buy them dry and…"

Ron covered his ears. "I don't want to know."

Harry held up a handful of peanuts in his hand and popped them in his mouth, crunching hard on them. "She eats them like that."

"Is it safe for her to eat skrewts?" Hermione shoved the tray of peanuts away from her, she didn't think she'd be able to look at them in the same way for a long time.

"If baby James is born with a stinger tail then we'll know for future reference won't we?" said Ron, grinning at Hermione.

She downed her beer in a few gulps. "Harry, are you sure you're allowed to be this late on your precious night off? It's almost nine."

"Blimey! Time sure flies when you're worked like a slave," Harry said, standing up. "I should go back home. Buy an extra bag of skrewts on the way back."

"Say hi to her for me," Hermione said, waving him goodbye.

"Tell her to lay off those snacks, I don't want a lobster for a nephew!"

Harry wrapped his scarf around his neck and grinned at them before disapparating with a crack.

Ron touched her arm. "So what do you think?"

"About what?" she asked.

"Having kids." He shifted in his seat and fidgeted.

Her fingers fluttered across the tabletop. "I've given thought about it," she replied. "Who hasn't?"

"Do you think, you know, that might be us in a year or so?" Ron asked.

Her heart stopped. "No!" she blurted out. "We're still dating, we're not even _engaged…_ and-and- we don't have a proper house and we need to pay for our rent and our food and... I'd have to take time off work and…"

"Hey, hey!" Ron raised both of his arms in the air. "I just wanted to know what you thought. If I knew it would make you freak, I wouldn't have asked."

"Kids are, in my mind," she said, "in the very far off future."

"Very far off?" Ron raised his eyebrows and he lips twitched into a grin. "Not as a granny I hope."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Just… not anytime soon."

"I see," he said as evenly as possible.

"I mean, you don't want to be a father yet, right?"

"Yeah, not yet," he lied.

* * *

**(About a week later)**

Coffee beans fell from his hand into the container one-by-one. Draco reached into the top drawer for a spoon and came out empty handed. He scowled at the laminated kitchen posters lined beside one another on the wall with sticky-tape: "Wash your hands before dealing with food", "DO NOT STICK KNIVES IN THE TOASTER" and finally, "Wash everything after use".

Inside the little red toaster was a teaspoon—the only spoon _(the only in the whole wide world!)_ in the kitchen. "Now that's a _decent_ logic going on here," he muttered to himself as he made sure the electric plug had been pulled out before he took the teaspoon out of the toaster and washed it in the sink. "Stick the end of the spoon into the toaster so you're safe from being fried. This is the problem with blindly following instructions, you fail to realise _why_ you are following them. Beware! The lack of critical judgement leads to ridiculous dogma by an even more ridiculous autocrat, and where would be?"

Rants. Such pessimism could only come from a night when Draco slept poorly. Even his coffee tasted cold and sour. Antarctica was warmer than Astoria's attitude towards him of late and he could not, for the life of him, understand what he did wrong!

"Good morning!" Like a burst of sunshine, Hermione burst into the room. He frowned and stared up at the kitchen clock. Five to eight. Experience told him that Hermione's happy hours did not start until well after lunchtime. She was a night-time person and dreaded waking up. Leaving the house so early could only mean one thing. She wanted to get away as quickly as possible. "Why are you here so early?"

"I've been arriving this early for the past week."

_Huh, that explained the dark eye circles_. Draco shrugged and stored away this piece of information to analyse when he cared about it more. He saw Hermione's mouth move in the corner of his eyes but he couldn't hear her words with the loud hissing sound from the steamer. "What did you say?"

"I said you can't make a career depending on mind-altering substances."

"Are you talking about coffee?" Draco said with a snort. "Where would anyone be without this miraculous substance?"

She pinched her lips together but nodded, knowing that he would be impossible to work with if he hadn't had his morning coffee. "You don't need a drug test to tell you're addicted."

"Coffee isn't a drug," Draco explained to what felt to him as every day. Hermione hated coffee and he was convinced she was under a case of sour grapes—for some reason, she was immune to caffeine. "We'll have this argument again some other time. Have you seen Artie?"

As if hearing his name, he popped his head into the kitchen, two blue folders in his hands. "Morning, guys."

Hermione raised a quick eyebrow to Draco and he confirmed it with a very miss-able wink. "What's this, _Malfoy?_" she said with injected venom. "You're going to drag me behind?"

"Hermione Granger, you're a shark!" Draco threw his trade-mark insult at her just in case Artie hadn't caught on they'd been fighting—he shot her an intense glare which made her heartbeat speed up for whatever reason—"I wish you would just stop trying to swim ahead!"

Hermione stole a peek of Artie and his face was a travesty of immense horror. She fought back a giggle. "I don't know how well-versed you are with sharks, but you _do_ know if they stop swimming, they can't breathe and they'll die, right?!"

Draco rolled his eyes and made a few pronounced claps. "And she finally gets it."

"Guys! What happened now?" Artie gasped, hugging two blue files tight across his chest. He wondered whether he missed anything—they were fine the day before. "Can't you just get along!"

"PFT!" She couldn't hold it in anymore; she let out a snort and erupted in a cascade of laughter. Draco's poker face offered more resistance to the funnies and twitched before it crumbled and soon, Hermione was clutching onto Draco's shoulder just to stop herself from falling over from laughing. "Did you see his face?" Hermione said between chokes.

"Can't you just get along!" Draco copied Artie's desperate plea, tears of laughter soaking his eyes. He felt Hermione's fingernails dig into his shoulder and somehow that, the sleepless night and the combination of the lack of coffee sent him into another fit of hysterical giggles.

"Oh, oh I think I might just die from this," Hermione said, brushing tears from her eyes.

"Guys," said Artie, looking distinctly embarrassed. They were at it again, laughing at something no one thought was funny except themselves. "When you two are done laughing, you might want to take a look at the files. It's Boggart exterminations and a gnome de-infestation for us today."

When the laughter finally died, they moved back to their work station in the corner of the floor. Hermione took a file from Artie's hand. "I'll take the gnome infestation. I'm quite good with dealing with them. They like The Burrow."

"Perfect. You go for the gnomes and I'll take down the Boggart which, apparently, is so mature an average witch or wizard of handling," said Draco.

"Or maybe they are just rich and rather pay for extermination than be frightened. Speaking of Boggarts," she said to him, "If a Boggart appeared in front of you, what would you see?"

"I'm a coward remember? A Boggart would get so confused with all the things I'm terrified of and explode just at the mere sight of me."

"And you're proud of that?"

Draco smirked and raised one eyebrow at her. "Maybe I am. What about you? Except for that awful fear of heights which apparently you've been cured of…. you were the one who thought jumping out from the third-storey would be a good idea."

"I guess it would still be the image of McGonagall telling me I've failed all my subjects."

"And by fail, you mean anything less than A+. Artie, what are you scared of?"

"It's kind of stupid so I'm not going to say anything."

"Loud noises?" Hermione mused aloud, recalling the time Artie tripped in shock at the sound of an owl smashing into a closed window.

"Martha's my best friend," Artie reminded her.

"She is loud," Draco conceded.

"And don't tell us you're afraid of Boggarts."

"I wonder what would appear in front of you if you're scared of them?" mused Draco. "That's a paradox in itself."

"Fish," Artie said as he wrinkled his nose at the mere mention of the piscine. "Ever had to touch their slimy bodies? Eugh! Just thinking about it makes me sick." He shivered and shook his head trying to dispel his thoughts.

"I know what I'm going to get you for your birthday now," joked Draco.

"Aw, you'd get him something?" cooed Hermione. "That's so sweet of you! It's a wonder he hadn't fallen in love with you yet."

"It's because you keep getting in the way." Draco said, completely dead-panned.

_And they banter on again,_ thought Artie as he absentmindedly handed Hermione a piece of paper with the address of the case site. "Have fun de-gnoming. Today Draco's my supervisor."

"Gentlemen, have a good time with the Boggart."

* * *

**(About an hour later)**

Draco opened the gate to the garden of the house, he frowned. Something was wrong. A lot of things were wrong. The whole garden was crawling with gnomes. Some swung from branch to branch while others rolled in the flower bed, trampling the vegetation. Though considered to be a small threat, their presence and incessant habit of destroying meaningful labour made them irritable pests.

Draco glared at Artie. "You mixed up the addresses."

A gnome jumped in front of them and screeched, teeth and bottom bared. Draco pulled his wand out of his robes and flicked the pest from his line of sight. The gnome screamed as it created a dirt rainbow in the air, making squelching sound as it hit the grass.

Draco grimaced. "You start taking care of this. I have to go help Hermione. A Boggart is most dangerous when they catch their victims by surprise."

Xxx

**(At close proximity with a Boggart)**

"It's quiet," Hermione whispered to herself. As she swung the front gate open it lead her into a small, quaint garden with rows of pumpkins creeping along the footpath. _Where were the gnomes?_

A rustle.

_There?_

Hermione pulled her wand out in one fluid motion and trained her wand from the source of sound. Prepared herself for a gnome to come flying out.

Nothing. _Sometimes gnomes know to hide…._

But there had definitely been a rustle. There it was again! Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. She took a tentative step forward and—

"BOO!"

"AH!" yelped Hermione, jumping back. She flicked her wand, ready to flick a hex at the offending gnome but stopped when she saw that it was a person. "Ron! What are you doing here?"

Ron grinned at her. "Thought I'd drop in and surprise you at work. Don't worry, I took care of it before you got here."

"Oh," said Hermione, so that's why she hadn't seen any gnomes in the vicinity. "You should've left me to do it. It's my job…"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever, 'ermione. What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours, right?"

"Ron, I'm working!"

"Sh," said Ron, his voice growing soft. "I have something cool to show you." He put a finger and motioned her to wait and dug his hand through his satchel before pulling out a big book.

"What is it?" Hermione moved in closer.

"A new product for the shop. I think it's… it's going to be big! I've charmed it so it creates this effect. I mean—let me start from the beginning and demonstrate it to you." Ron held a photo taken of them with Harry and Ginny a few months ago when they just found out Ginny was expecting.

Harry pulled Ginny into a kiss and entwined his arms with his wife. Ron had caught Hermione and everyone by surprise by pulling her into a swooping kiss just as the photo was being taken. In the next few frames, everyone was shrieking with laughter. She loved that photo and she couldn't help up smile.

"You slide a photo into the album." Ron did so and he flicked the picture with his fingers two times. "Now the magic happens, can't do this kind of stuff with electronic toys!" he added.

Hermione peered into the book and the image began to blur and spin. The image stopped, stilled and became clear enough for her to see what was in it again. "The picture, it's—"

"It shows the future. Or rather the future the person with the book wants it to be. I mean, don't you think it would be a hit-prank with the boys? Place a photo of some bird their mate fancies and show them the 'future' of the girl as some ugly crone…"

There was Hermione's dream quarter-acre house with a garden and a white picket fence in front. Ron's imagination was so on point to what she described to him late at nights; it could've come straight from her own imagination. Three kids ran across the lawn and screamed: "MOM! DAD! Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny are here!"

She was there, in a home-maker's apron, holding a vase of flowers _(why was she holding that?)_, Ron stood by her side on the porch. Ginny waved and rushed to greet them. "Hey, Mrs. Weasley," Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "How's life going for you?"

Mrs. _Weasley_.

She saw the life she would have with Ron. It was everything she'd described. Hermione stiffened, her face turning pink. She had her white picket fence house. They looked appropriately mature to start a family. The timing, the place, everything was right to her plans. She stared at the moving scene again, and the ill-feeling in her gut settled.

The Hermione in the picture was smiling… but would she be lying if she said she could see the small strain in the corner mouth? The strain she often felt when she was holding something in so hard, she was barely breathing?

"_Hermione Granger, you're a shark."_

"_I don't know how well-versed you are with sharks, but you do know if they stop swimming, they can't breathe and they'll die, right?!"_

"It's never going to get any better than this."

Was that all she wanted from life? She felt like she had been pinned under a boulder and was suffocating. _I'm not even content with what I thought would be the ideal reality!_

"Whaddya say, 'ermione?" said Ron, uncertainty growing in his eyes.

_Granger!_

"GRANGER!"

The boggart started to grow younger, and silver-blonde hair started to sprout, the silhouette's head—a frown appearing on Ron's features…

"Riddikulus!" The form faltered and fled into the rafters of the house.

She felt his hands grab her shoulders. _A Boggart,_ she realised. Artie mixed up the addresses. This was a Boggart… Hermione looked up at him, horrified. "I-I, don't understand."

Draco pretended not to understand the situation either. "So, uh, I guess I'll deal with the Boggart," he said, without looking at her:

"I'm not running away," she said.

"You're not," Draco assured her. "I was the one who was assigned with the Boggart."

"Okay, then," Hermione said. "I will go to where I was assigned to." Hermione swung the iron-gate creaked shut behind her, leaving Draco alone in front of the open garden. Draco took a deep breath and took his wand out and prepared to confront whatever laid in store for him. It had been Voldemort before, but now the evil man seemed like a bad dream.

It flew from the shadows.

"Ri—" yelled Draco. He stopped mid-incantation when he saw what was there in front of him.

Himself. An eighteen-year-old with the cruel, savage, war-torn look in his eyes glared past him and Draco knew, from his nightmares, what the Boggart was showing him. A thin trail of blood trickled from the vision's nose and his eyes flitted right to left. An obscure angle twisted his limbs as though he'd been skewered. He looked and was insane. Without a concern, the teen turned his back on Draco and pointed his wand to the ground.

"Shit." He felt blood rush into his head and jumped back. "_Riddikulus_!" he cried but it had no effect as he couldn't think of a funny image.

But there were other ways to go about killing a Boggart. There was one spell which was un-blockable, and could instantly kill its target. "_Adv_—"

The eighteen-year-old said it first. "_Avada Kedavra._" He didn't need to turn around to know who'd been struck. Another established fact: Lucius Malfoy was (in his nightmares, and now in this illusion) behind him.

It took him a second to recover before he whispered the two words without hesitation, aiming his wand to the teenage murderer. "_Avada Kedavra_."

The non-being exploded in a burst of green light.

Draco stepped outside of the room, shaken. With deliberate movements he made his way out of the garden, and shut the iron-gate behind him.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: And She Who Roams

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Seventeen: And She Who Roams

* * *

**(The Aftermath)**

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

"As good as anyone can be after _that_," Ginny replied.

"But you think she'll be all right? Out there by herself I mean," he said. "What if she decides to live off in the mountains forever or something?"

Ginny snorted and giggled despite the serious risk of Hermione's hypothetical hermit-hood. "Hermione's not stupid. She can take care of herself. Besides, she knows people are anxious about her and expecting her to come back."

* * *

**(Before: in which it's been three days since Hermione spends time from home)**

Ginny Potter slouched in on her couch in the living room, her ankles had swollen and she had a constant, gnawing desire to eat. The house was out of food. Harry was out grocery shopping, complying with her ridiculous requests for strange food. He'd be back soon.

She heard the rumble from the chimney—it meant someone was using the Floo—and rushed towards it, her gaze trained at where Harry's right hand would be: with the plastic bag full of dried Blast-ended Skrewts goodness.

A beacon of red hair poked its head out of the fireplace and the rest of Ron's long body followed, bits of soot and dust falling from his shoulders and onto the small tiles as he righted himself. Ginny tried not to hide her disappointment.

"Hey," he said, looking at her as though someone had lifted and placed a heavy burden on him at the same time. "Where's Harry? I thought it was his day off."

"Gone to the shops. He'll be back soon. I haven't spoken to Mum and Dad for days. How's everyone doing? The joke shop?"

"George's made this new product… things are looking up." He didn't need to mention that the shop hadn't been doing so well since the second wave in the Muggle Revolution.

She squeezed his hand. "That's great." Ginny turned to study her brother. He looked different today. Not his physical features; his red hair –the same Weasley shade as her own—framed his face untidily and his freckles spotted over his strong nose and jaw. It was the way he held himself. Ron had a way of slouching. Ginny admitted it made him look like a slob, but it relaxed and made others feel comfortable in his presence.

"Gin-ny! I'm ba-ack!" Harry sang as he unlocked the front door.

"Welcome ho-ome," Ginny sang back to him from the couch. Ron winced. Even after so many years, it was strange to see his sister act gushy and watch his best friend behave as though he were in a musical. "Guess what? Ron's here!"

Ron and Ginny heard the rustle of paper bags and two loud thuds.

"Put your shoes back on the shoe rack!" Ginny yelled at Harry. "What are you going to do if your precious wife trips over your shoes you chucked on the floor?"

There was another rustle and the sound of Harry grumbling. He poked his head out and his face lit up when he saw Ron. "What's up?"

"Did you buy them?"

"Yes," Harry said with an ill look on his face and grimaced as though Ginny was forcing him to eat the Blasted-End-Skrewts she requested. "Here you go."

Ron wrinkled his nose when Ginny caught the bag with one hand and tapped his best friend on the shoulder. "I need to talk."

Harry sensed something was up and nodded, giving Ginny a secret glance. She nodded and waved him away. "You can help me put away the things while you're at it." He placed the remaining paper bags filled with food non-hormone driven people were capable of eating onto the kitchen counter and began to transfer glass jars into the top shelves.

When Ron saw his sister hanging back, allowing them some privacy—not that she wouldn't be able to hear what they were saying from the living room if they conversed in the kitchen without a muffling charm—he waved her over. "Gin, you better come here too. Take a seat. I-I have something to tell you guys."

She took a seat cross-legged on a wooden chair next to the breakfast table, popped open the bag of skrewts and gnawed at a piece. Something was different wrong. Ron only stared at her chewing the skrewt with a blank expression and made no comment. Ron waited and watched as Harry transferred all the glass-bottled pasta sauces and delicates. When Harry picked up the bag of oranges, he took this opportunity to speak.

"I have something to announce… I… just now… well you know how she hasn't been home for three days… and the longest she's ever taken time off was two, and—well—I couldn't do it anymore and so, I—" he said in a rush.

"You're not making any sense," Harry said, putting a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You better start from the beginning. I saw you after lunch, so what happened after lunch?"

* * *

**(After lunch on that day)**

When Hermione ran away after their almost fights, Ron never looked for her. Not because he didn't love her, but because he held in his heart she would come back and he would be there waiting for her. Of course, if they followed the script, Hermione was the sensible one and he was the goofy airheaded boyfriend. Their roles would be reversed, but life dictated more complexities than a character on stage.

Artie sat on the far corner, with stacks of folders surrounding the joint cubicle like a fort. Draco stood from his chair, prepared for some form of confrontation and drew his wand out.

"What are you doing here?"

Ron pulled his hands out of his pocket to show he hadn't planned on making a scene. Relaxing, Draco tucked his wand back onto his table and tapped the nib of his quill on the inkwell, continuing with his work. Ron stood in front of him, looking frightfully incongruous in his jumper with all the fitted-suits in the office. "Do you know where Hermione is?" he asked.

"Hermione's not here," Artie answered him. "She's on leave for the next few days."

"I'm sure you knew that already."

Ron stared down at his shoes. "Do you know where she went?" His grey-but-once-white and shabby sneakers smiled back at him and he looked further across the floor to see Draco's loafers tap on the floor. He lifted his eyes with mammoth effort until they reached Draco's face. Asking something from Malfoy wounded his pride, but Hermione disappearing for three days with only a note _(I need time, by myself.) _devastated him. "Do you know where she is?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Draco confessed. "But I don't think I'll tell you."

Ron shook his head. "I know we don't get along—"

"We hate each other."

"But I need to find her."

"Yes you do," Draco agreed. "But not with my help. You need to find her on her own. You need to be the one who runs after and find her when she hides. That's your job as The Boyfriend." He made quotes with his hands. "Me? I'm just a regular colleague who doesn't want to get involved in your lover's spat." He took another piece of parchment and pretended to read it over, willing for the red-head to leave. He had enough relationship problems of his own. _(Astoria, why are you ignoring me!)_ He didn't need Ron and Hermione's.

Ron started down at his grubby shoes again. "I can't find her."

Draco snorted, unsympathetic to Ron's plight. "You should have been at least prepared for this sort of thing when you decided to date Hermione Granger. That woman's a shark. You should've known she's high-maintenance—the reason why she ran away isn't because she needed space. She ran and hid from you so you had the chance to catch her. You know her; she's the Queen of Actualised Symbolism. Find her, run and catch up to her: so you can head down your path of life together, hand in hand… into your golden future. Weasel, you're dawdling behind. She moves like Newton's first law of motion: an object in constant motion. If you want to stop where you are, the distance between the two of you will only grow larger."

"I know that," said Ron, balling up his hands and shoving it in his pockets. "I'm the one who knows that best."

"Find her then," said Draco. He wondered if this counted as a heart-to-heart with the Weasley. He hoped not. His forefathers and his line of future descendants would never forgive him for helping out a Weasley.

"But I can't!"

"Give up then," he said, apathetic to Ron's plight.

"If I don't find her, do you think she'll come back to me?" He asked Draco though he knew the answer. Hermione would come back physically. She hadn't withdrawn any money and she hadn't taken away her favourite travel pouch. _But if I don't find her… what would happen then?_ Their relationship had been so simpler when they lived on different continents; the distance mellowed and allowed them to remain ignorant to some obvious differences between them. She had talked to Ginny, something about a Boggart, seeing their future… what she was working towards was not what she actually wanted…

"Weasel, why are you asking _me_ of all people?"

"I have to at least talk to her, find out why she ran away like that," he mumbled more to his own benefit than others. "Thanks."

"Never helped you," Draco shot back at him.

"You did," he said back to him, a smile neither condescending nor malicious gracing his lips. That was a first. Maybe he could change. If he could smile at Draco with sincerity, maybe it meant he could change the way he wanted to live life.

Artie, who had been lost in the their exchange piped up. "I'll see you out then."

"Wait," said Draco, who despite everything wanted the best for Hermione… even if it was to be with a man he didn't approve of. "Take the Floo, it'll be faster."

"Thanks," Ron said. He headed back into the room and he gathered a fistful of green powder into his hand. Where to go next? "Diagon Alley!"

Draco placed the pen to the side and scowled. "Diagon Alley? Once an idiot, always an idiot."

* * *

Three days passed.

"Are you kidding me?" Draco said. He slapped the towering stack of boxes Pucey had assigned them to.

Artie sighed and looked dropped the heavy box to his feet. Grunt work, which involved moving boxes out of the file room and into their corner before reading everything and taking the duplicates and outdated documents out. With two people, especially with someone like him who had a rather shabby eye for important detail, they were drowning.

Draco who was rubbed his back. He heard clicking noises when he rotated his shoulders and a tight feeling stretched across his deltoids.

"Did you pull your back?" Artie asked, stretching his own arms. Draco winced and nodded. Being the scion of Malfoy and then under the favoured patronage of House Pucey, Artie didn't think Draco was used to physical labour.

"Whoever broke the lifts today is going to get hexed," his mentor said.

It would've been a simple matter to levitate the heavy boxes if it Pucey hadn't banned using magic for this task. _"The point of this exercise is to teach you patience and to do things the proper way. I couldn't find anything better for you to do, but the lesson to learn is that the means do not always justify the end. The process is important."_

That was what he said three days ago.

The exercise seemed counter-intuitive to Artie. If anything, it was teaching him the value of doing things his way, as it was the most efficient. His fingers itched and they reached into his pocket.

"Don't do it. You'll get us caught," Draco warned, looking around him.

"We could do this in seconds!"

"And risk Pucey finding us out and assigning us something worse? What next? Scrubbing the toilets?"

"That would be better than this," Artie exclaimed. "I never thought I'd be sweating in February!" He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and he shook out his shirt, it had clung to his back and armpits.

Even Draco, the man who contrived to remain spotless while on reconnaissance missions during the summer, looked untidy.

"Are there any windows here?" Artie asked, looking around the staircase. The only adjective to describe the fire-exit was functional. It offered no other luxury than its precise purpose of allowing five people to descend the staircase at once. Yellow strips at the edge of each step ensured that no one would slip and tumble.

"I'm about to make one." Draco placed his fists eye-level and made a swooshing sound and pretended to punch the wall. "Since we're not allowed magic, I might be forced to make one manually with my fists."

Artie sighed and squatted down; making sure his back was straight as he picked up his box of documents again. "Let's just get this over and done with."

"Or we should get Granger back here. These boxes should be hers to move. It isn't fair we're stuck with this grunt work while she's off hiding somewhere." Draco kicked the box. "I'm going to bring her back."

* * *

**(At this point: Draco's had enough)**

There was a point when words run dry and there was nothing to do but pursue your heart's deepest urge. Such a time occurred for Draco as he walked through the streets of Muggle London and his deepest urge was to scowl at all those looking his way. Suffice to say, his self-consciousness shot through the roof. He felt naked and alien. But he would brave these foreign lands in order to get Hermione back… to do her job.

"If the Weasel hasn't found her yet, it means she's camping in the Muggle part of London," Draco said to Artie beside him. The man was more at ease with this sort of environment. Having grown up in a Muggle neighbourhood, Artie was the one who suggested the shopping centre to him.

"When you're born a wizard, it's easy to forget about the other side of town," said Artie in a soft tone so no one would overhear their conversation.

"Or if you're born as stupid as Ron I-Have-No-Common-Sense Weasley," said Draco, scowling. "I mean, if she isn't in Diagon Alley and we assume she's hiding somewhere close, it must be here."

Draco shook the feeling of eyes watching him and contrived to keep his back to the wall until he saw the directory of the shopping centre in the middle of the conservatory. He waded through a throng of shoppers, stood in front of a back-lit board and ran a finger across the list of shops.

"What are we looking for?" Artie asked.

"G-15. A library, right? A library near the food-court." Draco pointed to the store on the board. "Let's go get the slacker."

"How are you so sure Hermione's going to be there?"

Draco shrugged as he cut his way through the shoppers. "It's Granger. She's the kind of girl who doesn't like boys but fast-food and fiction."

At least that was something Draco was counting on. To Draco, Hermione was a woman couldn't stand sitting and doing nothing, she'd need to do something with her hands. "If you had a decent pair of brains you would figure that out. I guess that's what tripped Weasley up." He flipped the collar of his trench coat up.

"I know you have a thirst for theatrics, but you look suspicious," Artie said as they entered the library. "Ouch!" He'd bumped right into Draco, who had stopped and dashed behind a bookshelf.

"There," he said, pointing to a bunch of red bean bags. Artie saw a red bean bag look as though it had swallowed half of Hermione's torso. In her hands was a book heavy enough to be a lethal weapon dropped from a height. He gave Draco's a thumbs up and the man smirked at Artie, pleased at their success. "Don't know why it took Weasley so long."

* * *

**(Some time later)**

Hermione could feel someone stare at her. Her war-honed senses stirred and she looked up, expecting to see a stiff-faced librarian. She sighed and her gaze drifted back to the book in front of her.

A pair of feet shuffled towards her. Hermione snapped her book shut and stood up to face the stranger. But the person in front of her was no stranger. Clad in his grubby sneakers and hand-knitted jersey, courtesy of his mother, stood Ron.

"You here."

"I had some help." He played with a loose thread on his sleeve.

"You asked Harry?"

"Yeah," Ron lied. "Let's take a walk."

She nodded and they left the bookstore and the shopping centre. Ron trailed close behind, but not at an intimate distance as she led them to a nearby park. The paint on the wooden posts had cracked and by the small teeth marks on the edges. It seemed as though small children (or wild animals) had gnawed on the posts.

Hermione swiped the bottom of the park bench dry with a tissue from her pocket and motioned for Ron to sit next to her. Children, impervious to the cold, laughed and cheered as they played Tag. Their joy was incongruous to their mood and topic of conversation.

"Want to sit somewhere else?"

Ron shook his head and he laced his fingers together, resting them on his knees. He had thought about and practiced what he wanted to say from the moment Draco told him where Hermione was.

"You know, I understand. I'm not even angry about what you saw with the Boggart. It stings my pride a bit, I suppose... but there's nothing we can do about what you saw and how you reacted. There are things you work hard for in life which doesn't give you the kind of satisfaction you've imagined when you obtain it." Ron took a deep breath and looked at Hermione. "What I'm upset about is the fact that you ran away without talking to me. It's like you decided for yourself we can't work through this."

"You did nothing wrong," said Hermione. "_I'm_ the one in the wrong… headspace. It was something I had to reconfigure out on my own."

"I understand that we are different," Ron began. "And I'm beginning to feel like we don't want the same things anymore. To be honest, a couple of years back I would have imagined being married already. I grew up in a large family and really look forward to loving and taking care of a family of my own."

They had broached this topic before. "And I want that, eventually. I want to be with you," she said. "And I'm sure in whatever I'm working towards, you'll be included in the end point." She took a deep breath and she prepared herself to say what she wanted –no, had to—say next. "But I don't want to be where we are now, I don't want to be in the same state in a year's time. Heck, I don't even want to be like in the same spot next week. It's not that I don't love you," she assured quickly, "It's just that… I'm not satisfied with where I am in life right now and until I'm ready to settle yet."

"I'm content with what I have," he said to quietly to her. "And I've been waiting to start a family since you came back from America." She didn't speak and he closed his eyes unable to bear where he could see this going. "Unlike you, I've know exactly where I am, and I'm ready, ready for the next stage of life. I thought since it was you, it was worth the wait, but…"

"And we're moving at a really a different pace."

He looked up at her and blinked slowly. "You're suggesting?" He didn't want to be the one to say it.

Hermione opened her mouth and tried to say it, but she couldn't. After all they'd been through, she just couldn't put what he—what they both wanted into words. "I'm too scared to say the words."

Ron gave him a bitter smile. "Me too. Age has made a coward of me."

She sniffed and kept her eyes trained on the dandelion plant growing by her foot. "You know even when we've… I'll still love you. You're my best friend. You and Harry are. That's not going to change."

Ron gave a dry cough. "I know it won't."

She hated the fact they were resorting the clichés. But they had been overused for a reason. Words in the end were not just merely words. Stringed together, they conveyed feelings from person to person. In new situations, words in sentences had to be fresh but when two spent lovers spoke their final words in their overextended and dry relationship, they reserved the right to overspent phrases as its significance conveyed exactly how they felt.

Hermione stood up. "I'll have to move out of course."

"No you don't," Ron said, "where are you going to live? I can stay over at Harry's until everything's sorted."

"Ron, don't be silly. Think about it, The Nest is sitting on your parent's land and they built it with their savings. How awkward would it be if their son's ex-girlfriend kicked their son out and claimed it for her own?"

"It wouldn't be like that," he cried. "And y-you, I don't want you to call yourself my ex-girlfriend. You're my best friend and it's going to stay that way. Ex-girlfriend makes it sound like we're never going to speak to each other again!"

"All right," she said, "but The Nest is registered under your name. You keep the place. That's the most logical thing to do, so unless you can come up with a better reason, I won't hear of it. I'll come by at around seven to collect my things. Is that all right?" She looked at her watch. Ron only nodded. "See you then." She even tried to offer Ron a handshake.

"Give me time, we—I—not right now." He blinked back his tears and didn't accept her hand when he stood up and Disapparated.

* * *

"So that's what happened after lunch," Ron said. "Hermione and I broke up." His mother always said a person would become like the people they spent time with. The Potters' reaction proved this theory.

This was what he expected:

_Thunk._

Ginny dropped her strip of dried skrewt, half-demolished onto the ground. "Ron!" she gasped with her mouth still full.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Harry's bag of oranges slipped from his grasp and they rolled a merry little parade across the kitchen floor. "What happened?" he cried.

But in reality, this was what Ron saw:

Ginny gave a knowing look to Harry. One eyebrow rose and her lips parted in a sad pout. She retained her vice-like grip on her skrewt.

Harry with scratched his untamed hair and gave a long exhale. "Oh," he said, before resuming his task of placing the oranges into the bowl. Not one was given the privilege to parade the kitchen floor.

Ginny stared down at her block of skrewt and resumed nibbling it like a small beaver.

"That's it?" Ron asked, feeling surprise by the lack of their surprise. "Oh?" He grabbed the bag of apples and tipped it upside down.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

"Where's the gasps of shock?" he cried. He saw a bunch of bananas and he threw it to the floor.

"Ron!" Ginny said, putting her skrewt down onto the table and giving him a glare. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" he yelled. "I just told you Hermione and I _broke up_ and the only reaction I get from you—" He pointed to Ginny. "My sister, is to keep chewing on centipede—"

"Hey, skrewts aren't centipedes!" Ginny said, turning red, but that was an argument for another time.

"And you!" Ron said, jabbing his index finger into Harry's shoulder. "Oh? That's like saying "oh" if the Chudley Cannons won the League Cup this year."

Harry scratched his head again. "It's not really the same. I wouldn't have expected that to happen—" His sentence cut short when Ginny pinched him hard on his arm.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Harry?"

"Nothing!"

Ron stood still for a moment before he bent down, picked the bunch of bananas off the ground and placed it into the fruit bowl. Grabbing the now-empty paper bag, he crouched down on his knees and picked up all the apples he'd dropped. When he stood up again, he saw Ginny and Harry looking at each other with a bewildered expression on their faces. "You weren't surprised," he said. "You knew Hermione and I were going to break up."

Ginny took a step forward. "We didn't _know_ you were going to break up."

Ron turned away from her and placed the apples not-so-gently into the fruit bowl. "And." _Thunk_. "You." _Thunk_. "Didn't." _Thunk_. "Think." _Thunk_. "Of." _Thunk_. "Telling." _Thunk_. "Me."

"We were hoping that you didn't," Harry said helplessly.

Ginny gave him a hug. " I really hoped that you two could make a compromise."

Ron sat down on a kitchen stool and pressed his hand against his forehead. "When did you know?"

"Um," Harry said, looking up at the ceiling. He turned to Ginny, who shook her head.

"We weren't ever sure, of course. But we thought it was best to let you two sort out your own business."

"When did you know?" Ron asked again.

"_WhensheleftforAmerica_," Harry said, unable to hold it in. Ginny pinched him again and he winced. "You said you wanted a family quick, and she… well, she wasn't too keen on the idea. But you two looked so happy together so I hoped I was I wrong."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "What did you see that I didn't?"

"The war changed everyone a little bit." Harry said.

"War made Hermione count her days short. In the face of Voldemort and encountering life-threatening situations, Hermione put her life-goals on hold and put her energy in fighting the dark side. You and Hermione worked," Ginny said, "because your goals were the same, you wanted to protect Harry and defeat Voldemort. But with that goal completed, your paths diverged and you became very different people."

"Opposites were meant to attract," Ron said to them. "They're supposed to complete each other."

"They do," Ginny conceded. "Until they don't."

"What am I going to do?" Ron asked.

"Win her back?" Harry said, his voice full of hope. "What about getting her back?"

Ron shook his head. "No, let's be logical here. We both want different things. I am unwilling to wait, and she is not willing to rush into things. No hard feelings." He placed his head on the countertop, his arms slack beside him, the picture of defeat. "How am I going to talk to her from now on? Where is she going to live?"

"You don't mean to kick her out?" Ginny gasped then said, "No, _of course_. It wouldn't be right to continue living together if you've broken up. Don't worry; she'll live with us."

"Take care of her, will you?" Ron said, sniffing. "Even though we're… not together anymore,"—at this point his voice clogged up—"I still care for her."

Harry nodded. "She can keep Ginny company when I'm on missions." He gave Ron a pat on the back.

"I feel a bit better talking to you two. I mean, I knew things weren't going the way I wanted them to a while ago, but I just didn't realised it would break us up." He gave a soft chuckle. "You two must think I'm stupid. I thought the only way people would break up was because they couldn't forgive something the other person had done… cheating or something like that. Who knew you could break up just because of this?"

"Life," Harry responded weakly.

"If someone told me this four years ago, I would have punched them to the ground," Ron said. He hugged Ginny and Harry before pulling away. "Take care of Hermione."

"We will." Ginny said. "And we'll take care of you too."

"Okay, but I need to be alone right now," Ron said, his voice cracking. He rushed through the front door and the Potters heard a loud slam. Harry exhaled and took a seat on the kitchen table.

"Don't sit on the kitchen counter," Ginny said automatically.

Harry slid off the counter and pulled a chair beneath him. "Well. They realised."

xxx

Hermione loitered in the park until it was getting dark and she wondered if Ron had told Harry and Ginny yet.

_Even so, I'll have to talk to Ginny,_ she supposed. _That's what people did after their relationships ended, right?_

All the children had gone home and there was no sound in the now desolate park, not even the rustle of leaves or the rumble of car engines and the silence reflected the abyss in her heart. Unable to take the silence any longer, Hermione jogged to a pair of swings and sat in one, the hinges squeaked as she kicked off the ground.

As determined as she was to not dwell upon the lonely hole in her heart, she couldn't stop the vision creeping from the corners of her mind. And the visions—flashes of recollection grew like a cancerous plant, taking root and soon the glimpses became whole sequences.

Hermione swung higher and higher on the swing as she recalled when she first met Ron. When she first realised she couldn't get him out of her head. How her heart broke when she saw him with Lavender Brown.

When they first held hands.

The days they hunted Hocruxes together.

The first time they kissed.

Hermione's eyes blurred and a soft sob erupted from her throat. She swung back and forth, her sniffles growing louder each time until her sobs disturbed the quiet of the night.

Crying let Hermione release all her frustrations and emptiness. It was like pulling down the lever in the lavatory. Her tears were cathartic, it flushed the negative emotions, she felt light-headed from crying so hard and soon her sobs died down to a few hiccups. She wiped her eyes and her nose with the edge of her sleeve and waited until the swing stopped swinging.

_First thing's first: Harry and Ginny's house. _Break the news if Ron hadn't, then ask if she could stay there for tonight. She'd have to find her own place…

Bright lights shone out of Harry and Ginny's house. A soft glow fell out of the window and she saw Harry and Ginny slouched on the couch together, watching TV. She gulped, feeling like an intruder. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell.

A few pounding footsteps later, Harry opened the door. "Hermione," he said, his eyes wide. "I heard about it… from Ron. Come in."

Hermione could only nod and she slipped inside the dwelling. Harry led her into the house as though she was a fragile piece of pottery. Perhaps he was being attentive or it was a matter of habit due to Ginny's pregnancy but Hermione's eyes filled with tears as they made their way towards the living room. Ginny enveloped her in a warm hug.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Harry scratched his head, uncomfortable with what to do. Ginny sat Hermione down on the sofa and turned to Harry.

"Go to Ron's place and bring back all of Hermione's things. Get Ron to help you out," she ordered him.

"All of it?" Harry asked, his eyes growing wide. "How would I carry everything?"

"You're a wizard, silly." Ginny sat down on the couch placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Do you still have that handbag?"

Hermione nodded. "It's the purple one hung on the left door of our wardrobe."

"Which wardrobe?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked down. "We only have one."

"Oh," he said, feeling somewhat guilty. "I'll get right to it then."

"Thank you," said Hermione. Harry apparated away out of the living room with a loud snap and Ginny sighed.

"I've told him so many times it's bad manners to Apparate in and out the living room… do you want to tell me about it?"

"We broke up." Hermione bit her lip, even though Ginny was her best friend, she was first and foremost Ron's sister. "We just don't want the same things. There's nothing we can do," she said.

"You didn't try to talk things through?" she asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it wouldn't be fair on either of us. We shouldn't have to give up how we want to live our lives for each other. And… it makes no one happy to compromise in between. I thought it would be okay at the start of a relationship, but it turns out it wasn't okay. I wasn't being very fair to Ron. I'm really sorry about this."

Ginny shook her head. "At least you gave it a shot. Until you find your own place, Harry and I will always make room for you here."

Hermione stared at Ginny's hair and tears threatened to spill, she blinked them away. "I can't," she choked.

"You have to," Ginny insisted. "Plus, you can see it as keeping me company. Harry's been held up at work so often I'm alone at night."

Hermione shook her head again. "Thank you, but I can't, Gin."

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Why not?" she asked. "Even though Ron's my brother you're my best friend."

"Your hair reminds me of Ron!" Hermione confessed, feeling ashamed. "And I need time away from him. I-I don't want to be reminded of him. I-I can't stay here."

"What if I wore a shower cap around the house?" she asked, trying to crack a joke.

Hermione tried to give her a smile, a few tears slipping from her eyes. There was a loud snap and Harry appeared before the two.

"What did I tell you about Apparating?" Ginny sighed.

In Harry's hand was a bag. Its beaded tassels clinked together when Harry placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat. "Ron had things ready," he said, trying to gauge Hermione's reaction. When she didn't turn into a screaming banshee or start weeping or start bruising their fruit—Harry didn't know which was worse—he continued speaking, "You can sleep on the bed with Ginny, I'll take the couch. I would offer our guest room but we're in the process of turning it in a nursery for James so nothing there's anymore."

"Harry, it's all right. I've decided to stay somewhere else," Hermione said. "And don't try to argue with me. Ginny couldn't convince me so I don't think you'd fare much better."

Harry looked over to Ginny to confirm if this was true. After seeing her nod, he gave Hermione a hug. "Where are you going to live then?"

Not her parents, their relationship had been shaky at best over the last few years. After they found out about the Memory charm, she sensed a sort of wariness from them, and to put it in blunt terms, they were afraid of her and no amount of apologising could remedy this.

"Luna's?" Ginny asked.

Hermione cracked a smile. "That wouldn't have been a bad idea if it wasn't for the fact that Luna's in Germany right now. I'm going to find a nice place and set up a camp under the stars."

"You're going rogue?" Harry asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"Yup," Hermione said in force cheerfulness. "Imagine being under the wide expanse of the stars. That's the best kind of spiritual replenishment I can get. And it's free as well. Also, there's that bylaw with a time limit on how long I can camp in one spot before it's a permanent dwelling so… I'll find a place soon. Don't worry." With that, she stood up and gave Harry and Ginny a hug. "Don't worry about me and enjoy your evening."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay… even to talk?" Ginny asked.

"Later," she replied and she grabbed her purple pouch from the coffee table and apparating out of their living room. In the wake of the aftermath, Harry and Ginny looked at each other as though a storm had just torn through their house.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

"As good as anyone can be after that," Ginny replied.

"But you think she'll be all right? Out there by herself I mean," he said. "Or worse, what if she decides to live off in the mountains forever or something?"

Ginny snorted and giggled despite the situation. "Hermione's not stupid. She can take care of herself. Besides, she knows people are anxious about her and expecting her to come back."

* * *

**I've been experimenting with a non-chronological format. Hope it wasn't too confusing!**


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Distracted

I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Eighteen: Distracted

* * *

February was the month of love and in the first week, the following events occurred:

Hermione Granger got over her first love.

Pansy Parkinson was in love.

Draco Malfoy fell out of love.

Astoria Greengrass put a face to a heart she broke.

Theodore Nott learnt love desecrated morality.

And at the end of it all:

"_It feels like I'm loved."_

"_I do care for you," said Hermione, pulling Draco into a hug. _

"_I know you do."_

* * *

Blaise took a drink of his tea—he made a New Year's resolution of not drinking until 3pm and he was doing it… if he just waited fifteen more minutes… he did not want to break his resolution two and half months in—his friend coughed and he looked up. _Concentrate_, he told himself. _How often does Draco talk to you about his love life? Not that he had one to speak of for the past six years!)_

"I need to ask you something, since you're, you…" Draco searched a word to describe his best mate that wouldn't offend. "Have so much experience with the fairer sex."

"Ask away, Dray-man."

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"Whatever, Dray-man, now tell me how can Daddy Blaise help you with?"

He pursed his lips and glared at Blaise. "Look, it's serious. Can you be serious for just _one_ minute?"

Blaise looked at his watch. "Three… two… one… go!"

"Astoria has been acting cold. I've texted her a few more times. She's slow to reply. On dates she seems distracted, or maybe bored; there's thirty seconds left, give me your reply, I need help." Draco took a huge gulp of air after he gave Blaise the quick rundown.

"Maybe she's intimidated by you or something, I don't know."

"I'm not intimidating!" Draco said indignantly. "I mean, not to _her_."

"Yeah, I was just kidding, you're more whipped than cream on pancakes." Blaise chuckled to himself. "I hate to break it to you. But she's not into you. Actually I'm not sure why anyone would be. Merlin knows what Pansy was thinking."

"Oh, I just love it when you talk about me when I'm not there!"

"Parkinson, Dray-dray has a problem and needs Aunt Pansy's help. Astoria's very cold. What say you about the situation?"

She pursed her lips. "I wouldn't care too much about her," Pansy warned. "I mean it, Draco. Just leave her while you can."

"Is this because of _that_," Draco asked, shooting Pansy a pointed look.

"What's _that?_"

"Because if it's that I'd be rather disappointed in you, Pansy."

Pansy pressed her lips together. "No it's not because of _that_. Look, I just don't think she's good enough for you."

Draco folded his arms. "And why not? I thought you approved of her."

She fiddled with her napkin and lowered her eyes. Might as well break the news as Astoria seems to have forgotten to inform Draco herself. "Well now I don't."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"Well, it all started last Friday night…."

* * *

**(Last Friday night)**

"Are you feeling better now, Granger?" Draco said when they finished dinner. Hermione had looked down and he couldn't help but notice…and eventually she had confessed that she and Ron had broken up. "This is the nice as I get. If you need some more of that Nice, you'll have to go knocking on someone else's door."

That managed to put a smile on her face. "Thank you, I mean, I don't think I would have remembered to eat."

"Whoop-dee doo. You've been Weasel-free for two weeks. You're single! You should be celebrating, not moping by yourself on a Friday night like this. Would you have spent the whole night working if I hadn't come to pick something up from the office?"

"It was half-past seven," she protested. "We've stayed in the office later than that."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, when we were doing high-level stuff that actually allowed us to use our brains. Grunt work! Pah. If another gnome bites my toes while I'm carrying out an extermination I'm going to storm up to Pucey's office and hex his hair off."

"Now who sounds like a workaholic or a psycho?" she teased him with the same words he said an hour ago.

"I know you and the Weasel just broke up, but as a third person totally objective to your situation, you need to go out. Have some fun."

"I was having fun."

"You were _working_." Draco pulled Hermione up and handed her coat. "And you had this expired cat food expression on your face."

"Malfoy," Hermione said, "Thank you for worrying, spending your Friday night with me like this."

"It's all right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't like he had much to do anyway."

"Are things not going well with Astoria," she asked carefully.

Draco's sighed and he leaned back in his seat. "I would like a front-row seat to the inner workings of her mind."

"I think it would be best if you went to talk to her in person," "she said in a measured tone,

Draco frowned. "If she would reply my attempts to arrange a time and place, half the problem would be solved."

Hermione's heart pounded and she kept her best to keep a straight face. It was _not_ her business, and even though Draco was her friend, it would be ridiculous to tell him what she _saw_. She wasn't even sure… They settled into a languid silence, staring out of the window, watching pedestrians scurry across the streets. They continued to sit in silence, and slowly but surely, the number of patrons in the restaurant began to diminish.

"That was enjoyable," Hermione said, as her eyes followed a couple grabbing their coats by the door.

Draco tilted his head to read his watch. "It is getting late."

They both shifted out of their chairs and fetched their coats. Winding her long woollen scarf around her neck, Hermione said: "I will see you tomorrow."

"Don't feel too down."

Hermione waved as Draco grabbed a handful of Floo powder and disappeared in a flash of green flames. Hermione herself opened the door of the restaurant and as she exited, she let out a long breath. She watched the misty, white exhale rose up and melted into the winter sky. She needed a good, hard drink. With her hands in her pockets, she made her way towards an alleyway, took a left and into a well-lit bar.

* * *

Something didn't sit well with Pansy's gut. Though she was no longer revolted by the idea of hanging Muggle-borns and so forth (spending ample time with the doctors, surgeons and fellow patients made sure of that), but having a drink, with THE Hermione Granger (war-heroine, first-class awards and honours, object-of-Draco's-affections-until-recently) sit down next to her at her _bar_ gave her the motions. Hermione sipped the foam of her ale, pretending not to feel the awkwardness of the meeting. They could have both ignored each other when they bumped into one another. Or, they could have exchanged superficial greetings and gone on their merry _separate ways._

Pansy, for the love of all things beautiful, could not understand why Hermione would _choose_ to sit in the same booth as her.

"Pansy," Hermione began and she shifted nervously in her seat. "Here's a hypothetical question."

"Hypothetical," she repeated, gesturing inverted commas with her hand. "What are you going to say next, that it's about a friend and you're asking for them?" Pansy's hand flew to her mouth at seeing Hermione's shock. "I was just _joking! _But why are you asking _me_?"

"Uh…" Hermione began.

"You don't have to tell me," Pansy said putting a palm towards Hermione. "I already know. There is only one person in the world, probably, that we both mutually care about."

"Well yes," she admitted. "I'm trying to be a good person here… I mean, Draco's been wonderful to me the past few years and I consider him a true friend even after all we've been through… and he even took me out for dinner just now and I just—" Hermione flushed as she gripped her glass—"want to be a good person and do the right thing."

"All right," Pansy said. "Tell me what this self-righteous act is."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Before I do anything, I would like to get all my facts straight. So that's the reason why _we_ are doing this," Hermione said, as she gestured at herself and then at Pansy.

"So you need intel."

Hermione nodded. "Does Astoria have a brother?"

"_No_," Pansy replied. She furrowed her brows. "And no, she doesn't have a father, or male relatives that she would be particularly close with. Who was she with? What was she doing?"

Hermione shook her head. "This could be nothing." But coupled with Astoria completely freezing Draco out? _No._ "One final question." She could feel the tips of her ears burning with embarrassment, and if her face were not already tinged with pink from her drink, her cheeks were definitely sporting a healthy flush now.

"What is it?" Pansy asked impatiently.

"Draco is still a solid boxers' man right?"

"What?" Pansy asked, confused at the sudden question. "Um. Yes? Unless he's changed his preferences. Wait what?"

Now that the floodgates were open, Hermione leaned in forward and Pansy, in turn, drew closer towards her—until they were almost touching foreheads. "I was walking past the men's underwear section."

"Ewkaaaay. Why?"

"To get to the women's section. That's not important. But I saw Astoria there, buying male briefs."

"Briefs?" Pansy's eyes grew wide and solemn. "Briefs."

"Yes," she said.

"_No_," Pansy said, recoiling from her position. Her That lying cheating little harlot! Oh, when I get my hands on her, she's going to be bald."

"It could be for some other male relative." _(No._) "Wait. One final detail. Draco is still a solid boxers' man right?"

Pansy raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "He swears by them—but how would you know this? I thought you two were close, but work partner close. I find it wildly inappropriate to be discussing about Draco's choice of undergarments to an outsider. We're not friends."

"We were classmates before workmates you know," Hermione said. Pansy said nothing because she didn't know what _that_ was supposed to mean. "When you're classmates in the same cohort for three years… and you attend the same initiation parties and your upperclassmen forces alcohol down your throat, you—not that _I_ remember much of it either, but that's neither here or there… but what should we do? Tell him?"

Pansy shook her head. "He probably knows their relationship is on its last dregs already. And if not, I'll deal with the Astoria situation. _I'll_ make sure everything turns out the way it should."

"How?" Hermione asked, because out of concern for both Draco _and _Astoria. Pansy's spite could curdle milk.

"Of course," and Pansy scoffed at her, "Draco's my best friend."

"Nothing illegal."

"Nothing that I would be charged for," Pansy promised.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Fading

I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Nineteen: Fading

* * *

Hermione had been focused, so very focused with her work and caring for herself for the past week. But one day, when she came to work unusually early – this was most likely because as comfortable as her four-man tent was to herself, she hated sitting still, doing nothing. And she realised, one morning, that she had overlooked someone, the state of _something,_ completely.

"Good morning," she said as she brushed past Draco to get to her desk. "We received a new file to complete within the week. If we push hard, we will be able to finish it within three days."

Draco looked at Hermione stolidly. "I don't think I can." Though that was an overstatement. There were shadows under his eyes that he could conceal. The raincloud over his whole demeanour, however, he thought he could not.

"Why not?"

"I'm tired," Draco said simply. "I can't afford to take a break, but I also cannot muster anything in me to go the extra mile."

"Oh," Hermione said, with a slight frown. "Are you okay?"

Draco didn't even look at her as he mechanically filled out an authorisation form. "I am." He scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page and stood up, deciding to head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea before deciding the order of today's tasks.

On the way there he bumped into Artie. He greeted him with brief exchange – (_Good morning, good morning, how are you? I'm fine thanks_). Artie asked him who he'd be assisting for today, and he informed him that though he was assigned to him for today, but he supposed it would be better if he assisted Hermione for today.

"For today?" Artie asked.

"Just for today," he confirmed.

Artie fidgeted where he stood and he looked as though he were about to point out something obvious. "All right, Draco," he said finally. Then, again: "Are you feeling all right?"

The corners of Draco's lips slanted downwards and he pressed his lips into a thin line. There it was again.

"Yes, I am all right," he promised and made his way to the kitchen. Several colleagues were lining up to use the coffee machine and they mostly ignored him. Others he had worked with previously gave a brief chat about what they did in the weekend, then enquired about his. It was a wasted exercise. After all, they all knew about it, every inch of his life had been published in the newspapers so they were all well-versed with the major and mundane events of his life.

"I saw you and Astoria attend the opera a while back. Lovely performance, don't you think?" Draco pretended not to see some nudges of the elbows to ribs when the particular colleague's morbid curiosity overtake her common sense. Politer conversation on the opera itself followed, by her band of colleagues, attempting to divert the flow of the conversation away from the status of his relationship.

Draco couldn't contribute much to the opera itself. He had been bored, but excited with the prospect of spending time with Astoria. He also could not contribute to the current status of his relationship. Obviously, there was something wrong. Even bystanders reading the newspaper knew. The lack of recent publication about Astoria and Draco's outings were not a result of the media losing interest in the couple. It was because there had been no meetings. And what the journalists did not know, perhaps, was that not only had there been no meeting between the two, there had been no communication.

At first, Draco thought the attention they both had been getting was too much for her. Sometimes people needed space. Particularly after the Wizarding War, space, privacy and time to oneself was something people would give freely. Astoria held a lot of complexity in her heart. He understood that.

But what he could not understand was why she did not even contact him in private. He could not handle her completely freezing out. Logically, logically it was simple. She had lost interest and did not want to continue seeing or contacting him. His friends, in particular Pansy, told him to dump her, and move on. Easier said than done. Some people might be okay with abandoning a relationship under these circumstances, but Draco was not someone who connected with people easily, and he had to know if there was something, anything to do to mend the situation… or at least be told it was over.

He eventually decided to make tea just to escape the office pleasantries and made it back to his desk. On his desk, a calendar which had not yet been turned to the month of February. He sagged into his reclining chair – one of the few luxuries Pucey permitted him to keep after their team had been demoted – and glared at the number of circled days in January. Dates. Then, suddenly an unmarked calendar for the last week of January, and the whole month of February to follow.

A silhouette cast a shadow over him, one cast by a certain Hermione Granger judging by the scent of her perfume permeating his senses. In his periphery, he saw a mass of brown frizzy hair reaching, but not touching his upper arm.

"Artie said he would follow me today, _again_," Hermione stated. "Are you really okay?"

Draco, feeling very tired from being approached and asking if he were all right, shrugged. "As good as I can be, I suppose."

* * *

Okay, so something was definitely _not_ okay with her partner. She flopped down onto her chair and drummed her fingers on the desk. When did it start? Sure, Hermione was a one-tracked mind kind of person, but that hardly meant she failed to notice other people's feelings, right? Right?

Draco had taken her out to dinner on a Friday night. They barely spoke, but that was because he was giving her space, Hermione had assumed. But now that she thought about it, the two of them had spent pretty much spent the whole meal and some more after that in silence. She cast a sneak peek over her shoulder. Draco's figure was bent over his desk as he had continued to scribble slowly over his paperwork. Normally, he would be making inane comments about how terribly bureaucratic all the paper documents were. He was silent now and he'd been silent these past few days. Hermione burned with shame, for she had been completely blind to the obvious signs of Draco…

Falling apart.

That was what was happening. Hermione had seen this happen to others before, but never, ever with Draco. To Hermione, he was someone usually cool and impervious to attacks on his character, and when he lost his temper he would retaliate in a rather churlish manner. She had never, after knowing him better personally, seen him so despondent and passive.

She did not need to ask to know what exactly had turned him this way, and it pained her to see such a foreign character possess the spirit of someone she held a high opinion of.

"Draco," she called out to him. "What are we doing for lunch?"

"You just came into work," he said pointedly. "I will be staying in the office. I don't know what you'll be doing."

"Well… I haven't decided what I'm doing and I was wondering..."

"Go have lunch with the Potters then," he suggested. "Catch up with them or something. I'm sure they would love to see your face once in a while."

She shook her head. It wasn't that she was avoiding them, but being with them reminded her too much of the time when she was with Ron, and only served to emphasise that things were different now. She took a deep breath, and scooted her chair closer towards him as an excuse to collect herself before speaking again.

Draco turned to face her. "You shouldn't cut people out of your life."

"I'm… I'm not."

"So you've talked to them, then."

"Talked to a couple of days before, yeah," she said.

"And actually talked to them?" he asked further. "Not just asking them how they are, and so on."

"Sure," she said, nodding her head. "Look, the Potters aren't the ones who I should be talking to right now. I want to talk to you."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "As we are doing right now?"

Hermione made a face. "You know what I mean. I want to know how you are doing, really."

"I'm fine," he snapped, in a tone which made Hermione jump. She gave him a small frown. "What are you trying to say?" he asked her. "Right now I just want to finish my paperwork."

Hermione's frown deepened all the more. "All right… it's fine if you don't want to talk to me. Do you plan to talk to your friends?"

Draco gave a dismissive shrug. "I guess so."

Hermione placed an arm on his shoulder. "You really don't want to talk about it, do you?"

"What do you know?" he asked quietly, wincing. "Why are you being so nosy?"

Hermione took a long time to respond. She didn't want to tell him anything, since it wasn't her place to do so. But she didn't want to see him suffer like this either. Also, although he was refusing her offer to have a good chat with her, he seemed to really need the moral support. And Draco looked as though he finally understood this too, for he deflated and looked her in the eyes.

"I appreciate your offer," he said. "But talking about it… won't change anything."

"You would have done the same if our positions were switched," she said lightly, as if this was something Draco would do for anyone. She supposed, though, that these days and her relative unease being with her Hogwarts group, despite their tumultuous arguments, he might be the one of the few people she could go to just talk.

"And if I knew something?"

"What?" Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"Just… my advice is for you to talk to Astoria as soon as possible." She leaned back in her seat and pushed her chair back to her desk. "And… if you need a friend afterwards, I'll be there for you."

"I don't think I will take you up on the offer," he said rather truthfully. And he straightened his posture, looking a little bit cool and standoffish, but a little more like himself.

"Um… are you annoyed at me?" she asked. "I'm sorry I had to butt into your business." _And I am truly sorry this had to happen to you._

"It's not that," he interrupted, sighing. "It's just that."

"I was delaying the inevitable. And you brought me into action."

"What?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it." He shook his head, and smoothed the stray hairs out from his face. "I will go and have a talk to Astoria, the one I need to talk to."

* * *

It was difficult to fathom to believe she has gossiped to Pansy, and even more so, when she could not understand the reason why was making these extra miles to find Pansy and track down Astoria for a "girl-to-girl talk". In this moment, the horrid feeling of spreading rumours (even if they may be true) and the turmoil of igniting something within Pansy had gurgled in her stomach, all but vanished. In its place, a dull, sick feeling settled in her stomach as her mind – and consequently her tongued – lost is filters.

Hermione she found herself caught in the embrace of a bad romantic film, where the heroine (Astoria was (not!) in this case) was being interrogated and attacked by jealous ex-girlfriends (of which Pansy _could_ be, but Hermione _certainly_ was not.). Hermione never had the misfortune of being in such a situation before, but she quickly understood (as with most things) that this was not a pleasant scene.

She folded her arms against her woollen jumper – her index and thumb twiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve, and this was her only reprieve from the sheer absurdity befuddling her senses. She sat beside Pansy and who sat in front of Astoria, behind a lamp. She felt the instinctive urge to trying her best not to stare into the light, before black spots formed in her eyes. The dots always transported her away to a faraway place, and although time faded and lifted the memories from her mind like age pulled ink from paper – her captive sending sharp curses of pain on her body, her screams reverberating across the stone floor – out of the force of trauma and then habit, her heart rate accelerated. She could not let her guard down.

"What right do you have to ask me this?" Astoria enquired, her arms also crossed.

"As a concerned friend," she answered. She had always been called a busybody, but this stemmed from caring about people. This did not translate to any particular interest. "I am concerned for his wellbeing."

"Sure," Astoria smirked. "And I'm sure Draco is very much flattered by this attention he is now receiving from you now that you and Ron Weasley are over?"

"No, he's very much preoccupied with the lack of your presence in his life," Pansy said, steering Astoria back to topic at hand. Whether the woman was more sensitive than Hermione gave her credit for, or pure coincidence, she took over the conversation. "We are here for one purpose only. And it's this: what are you doing to Draco?"

Astoria narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"It's obvious to anyone with eyes this isn't some silly push-pull ploy," Pansy said, annoyed at the fact Astoria was still playing clueless.

Hermione shut her eyes and realised they would need to push a little harder. She might as well, since she was all the way here, and there were no feelings to be spared or to be concerned about. After all, Astoria wasn't _her_ friend. "I think what you are doing right now to Draco is despicable. He looks like he's barely slept, and he isn't talking at all."

"And what am I doing wrong, exactly?" Astoria had the audacity to ask. "We are having our own issues, and it doesn't involve you."

"All right, I know they don't involve me per say," said Hermione. "But you think completely ignoring him is the way to go? He's too respectful of boundaries and cares about your feelings too much to show up at your house and demand and explanation. I get it. Sometimes you want space, and want to sort out your own feelings, but you can't just _leave_ without even telling him, or leaving a note."

"And what good would a note do?"

"Well, at the very least," Hermione said, rather miffed. "You are showing that you are concerned enough to tell them not to worry about you! You don't care about him, do you?"

Now it was Astoria's turn to be angry. "Stop making stupid assumptions about people you don't understand!" she said. "It's complicated, all right? Not everything is rainbows and butterflies for people who were in the losing side of the war."

Ah, that old chestnut. "I have seen many many terrible things done onto other people. Trauma, yes. All of us are suffering in some way or another. But that does not give you an _excuse_ to hurt other people to overcome some difficulty you have… you should be relying on Draco, not someone else. That's just unacceptable... do you know how far he has come to trust and accept people?" Hermione could feel the tips of her ears turning red, as they also did when she was worked up about a particular topic. Luckily, she was one of the people who could still articulate her arguments with force and eloquence even though she was visibly moved.

"Hear hear," Pansy chimed in.

Astoria stood up and grabbed her bag. "I-I don't have to justify anything to you two!"

"It's not that you don't have to," Hermione snapped. "It's just that you can't justify cheating for anything!" There. She felt a sense of relief for vocalising the truth no one had put a voice to thus far, even though it was like a subtext floating beneath the conversations of anyone within their social group and anyone who bothered to pick up the tabloids for the past weeks. "And after you've decided to be with someone else, you decided the slow fade was the best way to end things with him?"

"And you of all people," Pansy pointed out venomously, "thought the disappearing act was the best way to end things?!"

That stopped Astoria in her tracks. "I... just need some time."

"You don't need anything but a good beating," Pansy said, grabbing her by her shoulder.

"Pansy!"

"Chill, Granger. I'm not willing to hurt a hair on her head before she talks it out with Draco. Lest she plays the victim."

"In that case," Hermione pulled Astoria' bag from her grasp and despite her protest, she began to type in Astoria's cellphone. With a flurry fingers she tapped out a message. "There, I set a time and place for you tomorrow since you are too much of a coward to do it yourself."

Pansy cackled and slapped Hermione on the back with approval. "Smart thinking, Granger. And Astoria, we _were_ sort-of friends once. If you have any self-respect for yourself, and enough human in you to know that you're doing deliberately what had been done to you, then you better show."

Hermione was quite curious as to what they were alluded to, but more thankful that it seemed to be working. She saw Astoria shifted out of her indignant stance, and she lowered her head slightly. "I'll go," Astoria said quietly. "I know… I just…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. No excuses," Pansy said. "Now run along." She gave Astoria a harder-than-friendly shove on her back and wore a self-satisfied smirk as Astoria went away.

"I am glad you were there with me," Hermione said, for much to her astonishment, although she asked Pansy there to do the threatening (they could do the bad-cop, good-cop routine), Pansy had somehow convinced her with some logic and some emotional appeal, to confess to Draco about her actions.

"Well you were there to stop me from throwing a fit," Pansy said, and she felt her temper flare up. And Pansy understood what she was feeling: she was both a little jealous and held Astoria in contempt for making Draco act like a buffoon. He didn't fall apart for her. And for Pansy, if Draco had not toppled for her, he had better not make a fool of himself for anyone else.

So, in some strange sense of comradery Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson spent the rest of the evening at the shop, just talking before heading their opposite ways. Some patrons at the establishment could scarcely believe their eyes. Most of them smiled and wondered just how far they had come since a decade ago.

* * *

**Review are much appreciated! TBC**


	21. Chapter Twenty: My Dear, I Don't Give A-

I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Twenty: My Dear, I Don't Give A-

* * *

2205

To: Astoria

From: Draco

.

.

We need to talk about something important. Orange teahouse, please meet me at 11am tomorrow.

\- MESSAGE END -

.

.

0743

To: Draco

From: Astoria

.

.

I'll meet you at the entrance.

\- MESSAGE END -

* * *

Draco stared at the expressive faces of the other patrons at the teahouse –sipping their tea from thin, delicate china, leaning forward to reach for a scone—it only served show how inactive he and Astoria stood. Witches and wizards brewed potions and pointed wands against themselves; Muggles chopped, cranked and carved to achieve what they were. Astoria and Draco both of cadaverous complexion, were a pair of statues posing in a garden.

"How do you like this place?" asked Astoria.

"Dashing," he said mutedly. And it was. The opulence surrounding them was as clear as the water gushing off the edge of the balcony, which fell and collected into a large pool on the ground floor. Draco shifted the collar around his neck, now slick against his skin and lamented on his choice of attire. The temperature and humidity were set specifically for exotic flowers and plants. He was neither of those things. And here, stewing in a navy argyle sweater, he could scarcely admire the intrigue and beauty in which they sat, inside a tree house, surrounded by greenery, right down to its moss-covered walls.

"You been here before?" Draco asked.

She nodded. "A few times." That was a lie. She'd been here more than a few times. This was the place Theo had brought her for their first date and one of their local haunts since they began their relationship. It was their special place. _Pansy knew and told Draco to meet me here!_

Subtlety, was not Pansy's forte. _(And why on earth, my dear Drakey, do you think I would use anything but a sledgehammer to smash open a walnut? Isn't life more dramatic and fun with total obliteration?)_

"What was it that you wanted to tell me?" he asked. If it was a problem on his end, he could fix it, maybe. Arrogant he may be, he knew he was not a perfect person. But…

"Well I'm sure you noticed we haven't been meeting up as of late."

"Sure."

Astoria swallowed. "And I haven't been answering your calls and text messages. For weeks."

"Yes. After I found out you were still alive from Pansy, I stopped calling, and I stopped messaging you daily."

She looked up at Draco and nodded, trying to see whether he was getting what she was implying. He nodded back at her, blank-faced, totally refusing to see where the flow of the conversation was headed.

So commenced the "polite" way to break up part II (Part I being fading out). Breaking up via implication and inference.

"So, uh… what do you think this means?"

"That you wanted to be alone."

"Yes," she said. "And what else?"

Draco frowned. "Look, did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just that I don't think we should see each other anymore. At all."

A lightbulb flickered. "Right," he said. He looked down at his teacup. He was no connoisseur in breakups, but the way this was going was less palatable than he had fathomed. Something was off… and then his thoughts had screeched to a blind halt. Astoria looked pained and had turned so pale, she looked almost blue. "Are you perhaps…" (_and her heart raced twice its resting rate)_ "ill?"

"What?"

"Terminally. Ill." He scrunched his face and shook his head with large, swinging motions. "That's something reserved for terrible romantic-comedies, not life."

"Are you trying to be… funny?" Astoria asked, feeling as though her soul had just detached itself from her body from the sheer absurdity of his comment. "In a situation like this?"

"No," he said, dead-panned. "If you are terminally ill, we can work through this. With the new healthcare policies the Ministry have in place, as long as it's not a rare condition we won't even have to clean out your trust fund to make your passing easy."

"What are you talking about?" Astoria said, exasperated. "I'm not ill, I am just…"

"Playing stupid… just like I was right now. Doesn't feel nice to be treated that way, right?" He took a sip of tea, but when he put down his cup he used more force than he anticipated. The ceramic cup crashed into its matching saucer plate. The motion caused some of the tea to spill out of the cup and it splashed over his fingers.

"Obviously there are two situations here." He wiped his hands with a napkin beside him in precise and harsh motions. Draco gave her a measured look with his stormy grey eyes clouded with fatigue. "Either you are telling the truth or you are not. I am inclined with the latter. Why? Well, if it just a problem with you, in which you meant you felt we were incompatible, then we would have stopped dating, for real. End of story."

"Yes that's what I'm doing—"

"You are lying, and this is why I know," Draco said. "You forgot your obvious motive for consorting with me in the first place. Yes, it was quite a while ago, but don't think I forgot. We began as a farce, because of your mother. If it were merely about incompatibility, we would have broken up privately, but continued as a couple in the public's eye. Yes, I like you, but we were not at a stage where we were particularly_ attached _for it to be awkward to return to being a sham couple_._ And I am not about to be persuaded you would decide to stop meeting with me in any capacity because you found out something disagreeable in my personality. The benefits of pretending to be in a relationship with me greatly outweigh any… _flaws_ I might have." Draco quirked one of his eyebrows, daring Astoria to disagree.

Astoria shifted her head down, breaking their eye contact. She didn't like feeling so exposed.

"And since you wanted me to _infer_ and not tell me clearly you wanted the relationship to be over, let me infer for you, something else. The reason for this, would be that you found someone else. But I am unwilling to believe, there is someone _new_ that could sway your good judgement so much so you would be willing to leave them for me. So tell me, when did Nott resurrect from the dead?"

And in that instance, Astoria thought: this was why I liked him in the first place. He was so so intelligent, and his forcefulness was always polite, and charismatic instead of overbearing and brutish… and he was right. He was the type that she would take as a husband if it were not for—"You can be my second," she blurted out.

"There are two things that start with C which have no soul to damn: corporations and cheaters. How long were you going to keep me in the dark for?"

"I…" Astoria began.

"Tell me," he said, his voice cool. Astoria pulled her hands in his, trying to find some solace in his touch. She didn't like this kind of Draco.

Draco's eyes traced the outline of Astoria's bit lip, down her neck, arm and onto her hand which rested on top of his own. He stared at it before moving his hand away. He rose from his chair, careful not to scrape the legs against the floor and walked over to the edge of the balcony. Astoria swallowed and followed Draco, afraid he might do something irrational. Draco gave a soft laugh. "Your second." Despite his laugh, his voice betrayed no levity. "Did you get hit over the head with something?"—and his voice broke—"You think, after you tried to fade me out, break up with me, admit that you were cheating on me, I would be willing to be your second and continue any semblance of a relationship with you?"

"You're wrong," she cried out. "I just needed time. I didn't want to burn any bridges with you before I decided anything. We did have something… and I… I was indecisive. Can't you understand?"

Draco snorted. They kept eye contact for a moment before Draco dropped his hands to his side and headed towards the door without another word.

"I-It's true," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Was that supposed to be any consolation? I'm Draco Malfoy," he said softly. He watched her from his seat with his hands still by his sides.

"Please, Draco. I…"

"Astoria," he said, the weight in his voice could sink a fleet of ships. "You got what you wanted. I'm the one breaking up with you. You don't even have to do the dirty deed yourself."

"You don't understand! You're making me sound horrible."

"I thought of all the reasons you had been ignoring me. The thought of you cheating had crossed my mind, sure, but I never entertained the possibility. So yes, I am at fault. It was my sincerity and my _good_ opinion of you that allowed this charade to continue for so long. And from your actions, it appears I was the only one being sincere."

Her face froze and she resented Draco for being to see through her. "You know me so well. I was scared and you don't understand, I'm drawn to him like a magnet—you shouldn't think of me so badly. I know I didn't do what was right by you, but you know me. I did—I do like you a lot." She flushed red, having made to say those words and turned even redder when she saw the lack of reaction in his eyes. "Okay, so I deserve this. I stringed you along. I should have ended things earlier."

"I know," said Draco. He ran his fingers through his hair. "You know what? It doesn't matter anymore."

"Please don't say that," she said in a small voice.

"I did my best." He gave a harsh laugh. "Even sat through three-hours of that sleep-inducing opera. I don't speak French. Or did you forget you were going to the opera with me and not Nott?"

She felt sorry for Draco and saw how mean she'd been. It might've been the first time she felt so badly of herself. Or perhaps it was the first time she could put a face to a heart she was breaking. "I'm sorry!" she said. She knew she as in the wrong and stood up from her chair too. "I'm sorry I led you on like that. You know how I am. I have trouble and I can't let things go. That's how this all began in the first place."

"I don't want your apology. You're just sorry you were caught."

"But I _am_ sorry," she cried. She looked up at him and tears welled up in her eyes. "How do I make you understand that? I cared about you. You know I liked you as much as you liked me!"

"Does it matter? You know, Astoria, I had my mind on your best interests. And I would have understood if you chose to be with Nott. You two have history; it's hard to beat things like that. We could have stayed as friends, but I was sincere and you were not. We can never be friends now. The more I find out what happened the more it will hurt my pride, and surely, it will only be a mockery of my own sincerity." Now was the time for his grand exeunt. He paused at the door and turned to face her one last time. "So this is it. I'm leaving and I look forward to never seeing you again. If you see me turning a corner into a street you better be running the other way."

"That is fair. But what about… the press, if they ask about what happened? What should I say? What should I do?"

Saving all the dignity he could muster for these unfortunate, multiple encounters—he couldn't call it a relationship—with Astoria, he left these parting words:

"My dear, I don't give a fuck."

* * *

**And so it appears our favourite duo are both single, albeit recovering from their broken relationships. ;) Please review!**


	22. Chapter Twenty-one: Put Me in the Story

I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Twenty-one: Put Me in the Story

* * *

When times got too sad for Draco to bear upon his set of shoulders, he counted the small victories to make peace of a terrible situation befallen to him.

He had held it together. That was a good thing.

He also managed to deliver one of the best parting lines he could remember. That was another one good thing.

However, even this mental technique could not overcome the big bad that occurred subsequently. For better or for worse, he had always been in the attention of the public eye. Though he had felt relative anonymity in the States, Draco Malfoy was always one to be conscious the media had its eyes on him. He supposed that it was only right. The world would just be too unfair to endow him with fame, fortune, beauty _and_ a reasonable expectation of privacy entitled to a member of the general public. To have all those things would swing too greatly the Scales of Fairness and Lady Justice herself would be blind.

Recognition of these facts, however, did not preclude in Draco cursing: "What made you like this?" He'd picked up the paper left on his doorstep on the way into his flat, and he waved his fists in the air as he entered. "Half an hour, a damned half an hour."

Half an hour was all it took for the press to begin publishing their stories. If there was nothing which infuriated Draco more, it was the lack of journalistic integrity that plagued _Daily Prophet_. The stories were as accurate as prophesies. Drained from the emotional ordeal, curiosity got the best of Draco. Sprawled across his settee in the lounge, he grimaced and skimmed the headline in the article featuring himself.

The headline read:

_ASTORIA IN TEARS: THIS IS THE END!_

From the set of pictures accompanying the article—featuring Astoria in all favourable angles and looks, and Draco _(goodness, did they somehow take a photo of him after his two-week stakeout assignment last year?)_ with his stern countenance—the media had already set the narrative.

"So I'm the villain in this story," he said. The paper rustled as he rolled it into a tight log, and he flung it sideways. The paper-log twirled across the room, rebounded off the mantelpiece and ricocheted into the fireplace. Draco Malfoy, in heartache, sank into his couch and stared at his ceiling, mulling over the demise of his relationship. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face, trying to stop the strange ringing that was fast becoming a petulance in his ears.

* * *

**(Hermione, in a tent, somewhere scenic)**

Of course, by way of magical post, the stories in the magical community spread faster than Fiendfyre. In the same nature as the curse, sensational pieces of vitriol—follow-up pieces from other media outlets soon came after—fanned its own flames and chased the subject matter until they were smothered and consumed an inferno of poor journalism. She was lucky that with her Golden Girl privileges she had worked out, some years before, an understanding which ensured the media left her alone for the everyday ups-and-downs of her life. Hermione knew it had a little to do with the fact she did not invite the media upon herself—and had receded in a backstage role for the better half of the decade—she could not imagine how she would have felt if strangers lambasted her breakup with Ron…

With disgust, especially since she knew the truth of what happened behind Draco and Astoria's breakup, Hermione tore the newspaper into very tiny pieces before incinerating it. Dusting her hands off the charred pieces, Hermione hunted for her butcher knife.

She placed it on her table top before kneeling towards her fridge, rummaging through the cold box to find an assortment of vegetables and one whole raw chicken. She had been saving it for a special day. She brandished her knife and chopped the carcass in half. The table shook, and she caught the rolling onion away in one hand. Although she had learnt, courtesy of Molly to make food with magic, she still preferred to do things manually.

There was nothing quite as stress-reducing as dismantling all the meat from a skeleton…

* * *

Draco usually liked being the reserved, stoic type. It just took too much energy to be _dramatic!_ all the time like Pansy Parkinson. However, he did realise years of internalised emotions and repressing any outburst probably meant he couldn't deal with emotions very well.

Probably.

He didn't want to meet with Blaise (Blaise would somehow always induce him to imbibe medically ill-advised amounts of alcohol). More importantly, Blaise was too understanding, too empathetic for Draco to tolerate. He could not have someone pity him. His damned pride would not allow it.

Adrian was always sympathetic and was close, but not _close-close_ with him. Draco couldn't imagine going to him for any comfort. Furthermore, he was so detached from all that was happening in Britain—he was too busy making improvements to the world to care about stories churned from the rumour mills. It meant that Draco would have to explain to him, what happened between himself and Astoria… and he just couldn't make himself tell people how Astoria had cheated on him.

Yes it was his personal pride that got him again.

His pride was a hefty thing which buoyed him against the slander and hate directed towards him, but what a price he had to pay. Although his petty, vindictive self would have wanted nothing better than to ruin Astoria's reputation by shouting her misdeeds to the whole world, it also meant the whole world would know he, Draco, had been usurped.

So no.

Adrian, for various reasons, was not a viable option.

Pansy Parkinson. It occurred to Draco that she knew before him, of Astoria's infidelity. In hindsight it was obvious, she was insistent that he meet with Astoria and break up with her. He wouldn't need to explain anything to her, but he was so-so tired. He didn't think he could deal with such a high-strung character right now.

Draco sighed, his head lolling to the side and his arms reached to the rug on the floor. He played with its tasseled edges._ Maybe I should get a cat or dog or something, _he mused. Though with his current lifestyle, taking care of a pet seemed an irresponsible thing to do… there was too much work.

And speaking of work, he remembered there was someone whose company he enjoyed, and who in turn, found it just fine to stay and to have nothing to stay with each other.

But they were workmates. And to invite her over just to hang out? Impossible. That being said, he could get a semblance of company if he called her… about work. Feeling terribly dumb and numb from the constraints of the character he set himself, he sighed and closed his eyes again, hoping to get through the night by himself.

* * *

The more Hermione thought about it, the more outraged she felt about the situation.

How unfair was it really, that Draco was being painted a villain in this manner! Sure, he could be a bit mean, unreasonable and petty at times, just like that time when they had their major tiff. But weren't those the same words used to describe her personality often? He didn't deserve to be defamed as "a scoundrel who played with dear and darling Greengrass' heart."

Hermione, always the champion of righteousness, was so miffed with the article described a friend who was quite decent, reverted to basic instinct as she was preparing her ingredients.

She cooked for two.

Now before a delicious ensemble of root vegetables, skins roasted to a perfect, delicate crisp; chicken tenderly cooked and succulent, piping hot out of the oven laid a dilemma.

She obviously couldn't eat _all_ of the dish. There was way too much. While she could leave it for leftovers, this dish—the pinnacle of her culinary skills—was a rare sight and seemed too much a waste to be eaten unshared.

She could have shared it with her friends—except everyone had gone to the Weasley Sunday Brunch. Of course, she had been invited, but Hermione had promised Mrs Weasley she would attend the next one _(I promise I will be there next time, Molly)_. Which left…

Who was in particular need of attention, and the source of her distraction in the first place?

_Brrrinnngg brriinnnggg bringgg…_

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked herself, when she saw whose name showed up on the caller ID.

"Granger," his voice sounded tinny in her receiver. "I'm not sure if you read the _Daily Prophet_. I plan to work at home at least on Monday to avoid the kerfuffle. Could you please bring my files from the office some time before then?"

Hermione frowned as she continued to listen to him ramble on about the status of the projects and made herself comfortable on the couch as he enquired about the progress of her projects, what Artie was doing… and the status of each file on Floor 3. As if he didn't know himself.

"So yeah, the blue files on the side of my desk—"

That was the third time he had talked about the blue files. "Ah, Draco," she said, interrupting him mid-sentence.

There was silence. Then. "Oh I'm sorry, I should have realised it's the weekend. You must be busy doing your own things… I'll talk to you some other time then."

"No wait!" Hermione said, standing up from her couch. She thought fast. "Chicken!"

"What?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. It was a _little_ weird, she had to admit. But here was Draco who probably was alone, and his stubborn self subconsciously crying for company.

"Yes!" she said and she took a deep breath. "How do you feel about chicken? Eating them, not raising them, I mean. I made a dish and it turned out so perfectly it would be a _tragedy _not to share it with anyone… what I'm asking is, would you like some... now?"

There was a long pause on the phone and through the speaker, Hermione heard rustling as though Draco had suddenly stood up. "Uh. Sure?" There was rustling again, and this time, Draco's voice, distracted: "I have a bottle of red wine that also needs finishing."

As she suspected, she had made the right call.

"I'll be there in ten."

"See you in a bit, Granger."

* * *

"I realised this would be the first time I've visited your home," Hermione said, trying to lampshade the obvious. She motioned around her, the room was more cluttered with daily objects than she expected—somehow in her mind she expected to his living quarters to have… less warmth.

Instead, sunlight flooded the entire living area. A large coffee table stood in the middle of the room, with stacks and stacks of books and old magazine editions spilling from its bottom shelf. A tattered settee accompanied the table, and an assortment of cushions of shapes and sizes were strewn across it. A book faced open downwards perched on top of a bundle of blankets which, Hermione had no doubt, had been kicked into a small-ish lump. She raised an eyebrow. _Surprisingly homely. _

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said, noticing her eyes on the less-than-sterile state of his house. He wondered if he should have cleaned it better. He didn't think it was messy, but oh Merlin, did it smell?

Would you rather eat there, or there?" He gestured to the coffee table and the dining table.

Hermione spied several placemats in the bottom shelf the coffee table, wedged between two almost toppling piles of books. It appeared, the dining table was more for traditional décor than anything.

"Coffee table, please." She placed her dish onto the coffee table.

"Right," Draco said. He grabbed a set of wine glasses with one hand, and an opened wine bottle with the other and placed it onto the table. He settled himself on the floor. Resting his back on the front of the chair, he tucked one leg in and let the other straight. Hermione sat crossed-legged on the other side of the table, reaching to her dish and began serving up the plates. Draco poured two glasses of wine and shifted one of the cups to her side.

Hermione nodded her thanks and settled down on the floor as well, preferring to sit cross-legged. As she served the dishes, Draco kept silent and stared out of the window, he had in the few minutes of her arrival, expended all his energy in entertaining her. Hermione knew how that felt. She had wanted company (not to be alone), but didn't have enough energy to interact with people right after she broke up with Ron.

"How do you feel about watching TV while eating dinner?" she suggested to him.

"I've never done that before," he admitted. "But I am not adverse to trying." Draco frowned as though he'd never heard of this concept before. "Is that… a normal practice in a Muggle household?"

Hermione nodded and picked up the remote lying on top of the stash of books. She flicked through the channels, scouring for a show.

An hour and a glass of wine later, Draco wrinkled his nose. "What a lamentable mess," he said, referring to the stupid heroine tripping over a rock. "Honestly, who would like her if she's too stupid to walk!"

Hermione nodded and snorted at the glowing screen. "A disgrace to the human race."

Draco picked up the ceramic pan Hermione had brought the dish in and scraped the last bits of food onto his plate. He licked his fork clean and said: "Granger, you know this tastes quite good."

"I believe in Draco-speech it means "thank you for a wonderful meal"," she said with a flattered smile. Draco lifted both his eyebrows and gave them a good waggle to Hermione.

They didn't talk for a while after that, but that was all right. Munching filled the silence and they glued their eyes to the TV, watching the horrible dinnertime soap opera. They exchanged glances at each other in particular moments of disbelief, both at the show they were watching and the situation they were in now.

If someone had told them seven years ago they would be sharing a meal and watching television together, Hermione would have scoffed and Draco would have sneered and then asked what a television was.

The wind howled outside like a wolf high on the full moon and the shutters on Draco's windows rattled like a xylophone of bones on a skeleton. Rain drummed its tiny beat on the glass panes and thunder rumbled across the skies. Despite nature's noisy affair, the couple inside remained silent, staring at the screen.

Sometime between the second and third glass of wine, they both shifted up onto the couch. They sat at opposite corners of the couch and the blanket spread between their laps. Hermione watched the soap opera with disgust, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "Why would even one, not to mention two people chase after the heroine? Look at her!" She threw her arms up in the air and pointed an accusing finger at the television.

"You tell me," Draco replied. "This sets up a dangerous precedent for people to act like that. Honestly, people like her should just launch themselves off a cliff."

And they were silent once again.

The chilly tendril of winter tried its best to creep, sink and pucker into the narrow gaps of Draco's apartment, but they remained cosy on the couch. Soon, the night became pitch-black and only the streetlamps gave light to the shadowy apartment. Hermione's eyes lolled to the back of her head as she tried to fight off sleep. Her head rested on the pillow-like side of the armchair. "I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit. I think I'm going blind from her stupidity."

Draco made a low grunt. "Do as you please. I might do the same." There was something cathartic and sleep-inducing in the way one could lie on the couch after a hot meal, watching the telly while wind and rain rapped against a residence. "We'll have to soak the dish or it'll be ridiculous to clean."

Hermione pressed her forehead against the chair, almost catatonic. She didn't even care when Draco stretched his long legs and invaded her side of the couch. Seeing as he didn't seem to particularly mind her presence, she straightened her legs so it reached over to his side as well.

Draco snored lightly in response. She let out a faint giggle before surrendering herself to sleep, the last thought of the night being: she was sleeping next to Draco and it didn't feel out of place.

* * *

He dreamed. He dreamed of the woman beside him in an unbroken sleep, she laughed and spun away. Then came the dark flashes.

"_Imperio!"_

Draco saw himself blink twice slowly, sitting in his chair. Saw a black dot in front of his face. It slowly came into focus. A wand. Black ochre with a snake head as its hand grip. His father's wand.

"Draco….must…. never…"

His mother appeared in front of him with a tight-lipped expression. "You understand… only… way…"

Then he wished he never saw it. His father closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and he mouthed three words to his wife.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

A flash of green light exploded from his mother's wand and she smiled as she lowered it. Lucius Malfoy fell backwards. His eyes remained closed and his long hair splayed as the force of the spell knocked him backwards and he fell on his back, thudding twice on the ground before resting there and forever more. His mother faced him and pointed her wand to him, with a sickness growing within her eyes. "A bird in one hand is worth two in the bush."

Then everything went black again.

Draco gasped he jolted back into reality, feeling like he had been a piece of forlorn gum scrapped off a shoe. That dream again, his mind played tricks on him. Some nights, they would show him what the Boggart showed, or like last night, it would be this dream—he didn't know which one was real. He rubbed his puffy eyes (he hadn't been crying!) and started.

In the morning, before his coffee, sometimes things weren't very coherent. But never had he hallucinated like this before. Draco struggled to place what happened the night before. He sat up.

"Nnnn." A sound came from the floor. Judging from the groan, whoever was down there was NOT having a good time either.

"GAH!"

_Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione._ That was the one name which through his head for the next few moments, and each time he called her name, he passed through different stages of emotion. First: shock _(what was she doing here?),_ acceptance _(right, she came over for dinner last night),_ exasperation _(why hadn't she left?), _worry _(nothing happened, right?)._ He checked his pants. They were thankfully on. He was fully clothed. So was she. With this finding, Draco relaxed and sank back down onto the couch.

"What time is it?"

He craned his neck and squinted at the timepiece on his mantle. "6.30am."

"Then let me sleep more."

"Granger," he said delicately. It was possible she had no idea where she was. He nudged her head lightly with his foot.

"Oi!" she said, slapping away at him. She sat up, looking around, trying to collect her bearings and slurped. Then, she wiped her mouth and the floor in quick successive motions.

"Granger. Did you just slurp?"

"No."

"And did you wipe the floor with your sleeve?"

She looked away, her face turning red. Covering her face with both hands, she stood up and sat on one side of the couch again. "I'm sorry. I totally drooled." She flicked her mane of curly hair behind her head and protruded her bottom lip. "Sorry."

Draco shook his head, a rush of generosity and graciousness he hadn't felt so intensely before pervading his consciousness. "Don't worry about it."

"I believe I overstayed my welcome," she said.

"No, I'm glad you were there," he said quickly. It was hard to explain why he was glad. Except that he was. Perhaps it was the totally mundane and normal night Hermione had presented to him. Perhaps it was the kind of comfort she gave. She was just there, spending time with him. He would not have been able to handle anything resembling pity. "I needed to take my mind off things after I made a tactical retreat."

"Oh." She nodded, wondering if she should be so bad mannered as to ask him for the specific details—the truth of what happened.

"I wrote myself out of the story where I was cast the second male lead," he offered. He could feel her curiosity, but rather than feeling irritated at the inquisition into his life, he felt the touch of warm concern which had literally come visiting. He wanted to share. It didn't matter if the rest of the world had gotten it all wrong. In Hermione's narrative, he wanted it right.

"I see," she said.

He waited for a peal of laughter, pity, or anything. Either she was proficient at hiding these emotions because she knew he would not bear being thought of less, or she really didn't feel that way, she merely shrugged her shoulders.

"I had one of the best parting lines of the century," he said. He was grateful for her (lack of) reaction.

When Draco pushed himself up, he found the irritating, hammering in his head and numbness around his head had cleared during the night. For a night right after a breakup, he was doing incredibly well. Only his neck was sore from falling asleep in a funny angle. "I was very impressed with it, especially given the time and context," he said.

"I'm sure you were," she said. She rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Draco kicked his blanket to the end of the couch and got up, heading towards the kitchen.

"Want some coffee?"

* * *

**Sometimes you just need a friend to be there and do nothing with you. :)**


End file.
